


Northbound

by avantegarda



Series: It's the New World, Darling-A 19th-20th Century AU [9]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Family Drama, Formenos, Gen, Literally so much drama, Scotland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-12-18 04:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18242666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avantegarda/pseuds/avantegarda
Summary: Some families go on vacation. Some families flee to Scotland after one of them pulls a pistol on his half-brother. And the village of Glen Formenos is not going to have any idea what's hit it.





	1. Introduction: The Players

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies! Once again it's more Victorian Fëanorians, this time feat. actual plot somehow.  
> I am going to be playing fast and loose with the POV switches here, but never fear...each of the chapters will be labeled so you know who the heck is talking. (It's usually Curufin. He has so many opinions)  
> (And for those of you interested in a little backstory, you may view my story about the invention of the Gates Artificial Diamonds, A Marvelous Invention)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have added in this character list last-minute, both to be useful and because it seemed funny at the time.

Finwë Gates: Businessman and patriarch

Indis Gates: His wife, a Lady

Fëanor C. Gates: His eldest son, an inventor

Nerdanel Gates: Fëanor’s Irish wife, a sculptor

Maedhros N. Gates: Age 31, a solicitor

Maglor K. Gates: Age 28, a musician

Celegorm T. Gates: Age 26, an outdoorsman

Caranthir M. Gates: Age 24, an aspiring financier

Curufin A. Gates: Age 21, his father’s favorite

Amrod P. and Amras T. Gates: Age 18, troublemakers

Fingon Gates: Their cousin, a gentleman

Andril “Annie” Hope: A Scottish midwife

Melkor Bauglir: A criminal

Ungoliant Molotov: His accomplice, a terrifying woman

Manwë Sulimo: The Prime Minister


	2. The Scandal (Curufin)

The story about how my family went from “major scientific breakthrough” to “no longer allowed in London” in the space of twelve hours has been much discussed and reported on in all the newspapers ever since it happened. I would like to note, however, that most people (being idiots) have only a vague idea of what actually occurred.

The barest facts of what happened that day, then, are these (laid out in chronological order, for your edification):

 

3:00 PM, July 20, 1892- Father unveils to our family his most brilliant invention to date: the Gates Artificial Diamonds (GADs), which are worth far more money than real diamonds and are also top-secret.

4:00 PM- Father goes to a meeting to discuss family business with Granddad and our half-uncles.

6:00 PM- Having both heard some nasty but unsubstantiated rumors about the other’s ambitions to take over the family firm, Father and Uncle Fingolfin get into an intense and very loud argument at the end of the meeting.

6:15 PM- Father follows Uncle Fingolfin to Trafalgar Square and pulls a pistol on him.

 

Frankly, I think everyone overreacted considerably to the entire situation. It wasn’t as though anyone was actually hurt, and they could never prove Father ever intended to  _ fire  _ the gun. However, Uncle Fingolfin’s side of the family are terrible sticklers, and my grandfather was utterly horrified and insisted that  _ something  _ must be done.

This was all explained to the rest of us in a great hurry and with a minimum of detail when Father finally returned at eleven o’clock that night. He and my oldest brother Maedhros, now one of the family solicitors, had spent several hours talking things over with Granddad and had apparently come up with the only reasonable solution they could think of.

“We are heading up to Scotland,” Father informed us, after he had woken everyone up and gathered us in the parlor. “Your grandfather has recently acquired a house in the village of Glen Formenos, not far from Edinburgh. It’ll be a safe place for us to lie low until the scandal dies down.”

“Wait, do you mean  _ all  _ of us must go to Scotland?” Celegorm asked, raising an eyebrow. “But we didn’t do anything. Not this time, anyway.”

“Granddad feels it would be safer for all of us to leave town, at least for a while,” Maedhros explained in a strained voice. My usually dapper and handsome older brother looked absolutely dreadful—he had dark purple circles under his eyes, his red hair resembled a bird’s nest, and there was a large coffee stain on his shirt. Somehow, seeing perfect Maedhros looking a complete mess cheered me up considerably.

“London’s general opinion is very much against all of us at the moment,” Maedhros went on. “The more time any of us spend in the public eye, the worse it’s going to be, both for ourselves and for Granddad’s business. Unfortunately, what that means is that until the worst has blown over we are essentially exiled from London.”

It didn’t seem like such a bad fate to me, more of a chance to get some peace and quiet and possibly actually get some work done for once, but all of my brothers looked thoroughly irked and immediately started complaining. Father rolled his eyes and held up a hand to silence everyone.

“Boys, I understand that this is an inconvenience, but do try to be sensible. With any luck we’ll only be gone for a short time, and Scotland is hardly Botany Bay. Maglor, I know you were supposed to be heading to Paris tomorrow…”

“No, it’s all right. I’ll postpone the concert,” Maglor sighed. “This is more important, I suppose.”

His reaction surprised me—my second-oldest brother has a tendency to be incredibly melodramatic and insist that Nothing Is More Important Than Art. I wasn’t sure what had brought on this sudden attack of being sensible, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t last.

“When are we leaving?” the twins asked. They were eighteen by now and already out of school but, somehow, still seemed like children, especially when they spoke in unison like that.

“First thing tomorrow,” Father replied. “Any other questions?”

I raised my hand. “I’ve got one. What exactly are we going to do with the GADs?”

Silence fell. It seemed that somehow, in all the confusion, the rest of my family had forgotten about  _ the most important things we owned.  _

(Every day I think my brothers cannot disappoint me more and yet somehow, every day, they do)

“The GADs are coming with us, of course,” said Father firmly. “I am absolutely not leaving them behind.”

Maedhros frowned. “But...surely it’s much safer to keep them here in the house rather than having them traveling with us?”

“They’ll be safer with us, so we can guard them, of course. Do you think I’ll leave them in a safe in a cellar in London where  _ anyone  _ could find them?”

“I...suppose not,” said Maedhros, sounding unconvinced. “Then we ought to get packing, really.”

“Quite right. Nell, will you come down to the cellar with me and help me get the trunks, they’re…”

“No,” said Mother quietly.

Father looked at her in confusion. “Pardon?”

“No,” Mother said again. “I am not helping you pack. I’ll not be coming up to Scotland with you.”

“What do you mean, you’re  _ not coming with us?”  _

“What I say. I’m done with this, Fëanor. I’ve been cleaning up your messes for years and haven’t complained a bit, but this? This is too much.” Mother stepped closer to Father and glared up at him. “I’ve been a good wife to you, and perhaps someday I will be again. But ever since you started working on those...those  _ things _ you’ve forgotten how to be a husband and a father. And I won’t be going anywhere with you until you remember.”

For one horrible moment, I was terrified Father was going to hit her. Thank goodness, he didn’t—just stared at her, with equal parts fury and incomprehension. Finally, he spat out one word.

“ _ Fine. _ ”

 

At four o’clock the next morning we took our trunks and boarded the first train to Edinburgh from Paddington Station. True to her word, Mother didn’t come.

_ Quite all right _ , I thought to myself.  _ We don’t need her. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curufin is 500% one of those kids who calls his parents "Mother and Father" instead of "Mum and Dad."
> 
> I absolutely adore Feanor, but I've always thought that once he invented the Silmarils it sent him down something of an unhealthy-obsession spiral. This poor family.


	3. Correspondence (Various)

(Telegram from Maglor Gates to Monsieur Henri Bernard, Orpheum Theatre, Paris)

MUST POSTPONE PARIS CONCERT STOP FAMILY EMERGENCY STOP PLEASE OFFER SPOT TO ELEMMIRE VIRTANEN STOP SHE WILL BE ANNOYINGLY HAPPY TO ACCEPT STOP MAY ALSO LEARN BAGPIPES STOP SORRY ABOUT ALL THIS STOP SINCERELY MK GATES

 

(Letter from Celegorm Gates to his cousin Aredhel)

_ Dear Del, _

_ Awfully sorry about all the fuss. Can’t say I entirely understand it myself but Dad’s been acting oddly lately for reasons I’m not really allowed to explain. I’m sure you must be pretty steamed at the lot of us right now but once you’ve calmed down I hope you’ll be allowed to visit us. Granddad’s coming up in a few months apparently so that will be nice. Scotland’s not so bad, really. Good grouse hunting up here. _

_ Miss you and all the rest, I suppose.  _

_ \--Celegorm _

 

(Letter from Maedhros Gates to his cousin Fingon)

 

_ Dear Fingon, _

_ By now you’ve heard that we’ve headed up to Scotland, I assume. _

_ I feel I ought to apologize, somehow, though for the life of me I can’t think how to begin. Even though I know it’s my father who should be doing the apologizing _ — _ to your father, to you and your siblings, to humanity as a whole _ — _ well, I can’t really see him doing that, can you? _

_ So it’s left up to me, once again. I am so, so sorry. Truly I am. _

_ Mum isn’t coming with us. She told Dad in no uncertain terms she was through with his nonsense and wouldn’t be budging until he got himself sorted out. I’m disappointed she isn’t coming with us; things will be very difficult without her. But truthfully, I can understand why she refused. It’s not easy for her, being married to Dad. Especially as he’s got these new inventions I’m fairly certain he loves more than any of us. _

_ I’m under strict orders not to speak about them to anyone, but I’m assuming you won’t be foolish enough to repeat anything, so I’ll tell you. They are diamonds. Great bloody diamonds that Dad somehow made out of minerals and sheer gumption. Evidently they’re more valuable than everything else we own put together, so it’s understandable that they are very important. But more important than Mum? I find that difficult to comprehend. _

_ Look after her, if you’re able to. She’ll be a bit lonely, I think, and she’s always been fond of you. Let her know we love her. _

_ And don’t forget to write to me occasionally, if you can. _

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Maedhros _  
  


(Letter from Fëanor Gates to his wife)

~~_ Dear Nerdanel, I… _ ~~

~~_ Dear Nell, I’m sorry about… _ ~~

~~_ I cannot believe you would do this to our family. _ ~~

~~_ I love you. _ ~~

 

“Oh, bloody hell, I can’t write this. Curufin, go fetch me a bottle of wine.”

“Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maglor is so bad at telegrams. Seriously, that thing's going to cost a FORTUNE to send.


	4. Castle Formenos (Caranthir)

A  _ house _ , Dad said. Granddad Finwë bought a  _ house  _ in Scotland. I do not know in what world the word “house” means “enormous freezing cobwebby castle” but apparently it’s this one as that is what we arrived at after a long and disgusting train journey.

“Bloody grim, this place,” I remarked as we set our trunks down in an entryway lined with fading portraits of ferocious-looking Scotsmen. “I certainly hope Granddad didn’t pay much for it. Who were the original owners?”

“Some Scottish baron and his family who made poor investments. And no, you madman, Granddad didn’t spend a fortune on it, though I don’t see why you care so much about his finances,” Maedhros said. “Anyway, I know it looks a bit grim on the inside, but it’s in quite a beautiful spot.”

“Five hundred acres of woodland,” Celegorm said dreamily. “If I set foot indoors for more than an hour while we’re up here feel free to throw me out of a window.”

“Well, it’ll certainly be secure, no mistake about that,” declared Dad with a false cheeriness that set my teeth on edge. “This place was built in the 15th century to keep out English invaders.”

“And yet, here we are anyway,” Amras muttered, causing Amrod to giggle and Dad to shoot both of them a sharp look.

“You boys may as well unpack and choose what rooms you would like,” Dad went on. “There’s hardly a shortage of them in here. Though they may need some cleaning out first, which shouldn’t be any trouble for you to do.”

“Am I correct in assuming that we will not be hiring any servants to help us?” Curufin asked. “After all, with Mother gone, that’s one less person to…” He trailed off Dad gave him a glare that would freeze Hell. “Never mind.”

“I see no reason why we would have to hire servants at this point,” Dad replied icily. “After all, you are all adults now, and it isn’t as though you have any more pressing things to do, is it?”

I personally could think of at least five more pressing things I would have liked to do, including sitting down with a ledger and finding out if this crumbling old pile could be made profitable in any way. But Dad was clearly in one of his moods, so I kept my mouth shut as we trudged up the stairs with our luggage. 

The second floor was, somehow, even grimmer than the first. While there were some valuable-looking paintings and statues scattered around, they were covered in a thick layer of dust that looked as though it had been there since the War of 1812. From down the hall I could have sworn I heard the sound of a rat scampering around, though it may have just been my brothers as they darted about trying to decide on bedrooms.

“Maglor, this one has got to be your room, it has a harpsichord in it!”

“There’s a family of mice living in that harpsichord, I already checked. I think using mice as percussion instruments would be a bit  _ too  _ avant-garde.”

“I’ve counted eight bedrooms so far...Amrod and Amras, you can each have your own!”

“Why on earth would we want  _ that?” _

“There is a giant box of antlers in here. Not attached to anything, just a pile of antlers in a box. This is the best place we have ever lived.”

“I don’t care for any of these rooms, really. Has this castle got a dungeon? I think I’d like to sleep in a dungeon.”

“You  _ deserve  _ to sleep in a dungeon, Curufin.”

My own room wasn’t so difficult to choose. After wandering about for a few minutes and climbing a narrow, spiralling flight of stairs in the north tower I discovered a small, round chamber containing only a narrow bed and a writing desk which, when I looked in the drawers, contained fivepence and several dead spiders. Listening carefully, I realized I was high up enough that no matter how loudly anyone was shouting downstairs, I couldn’t hear a word of it.

Bloody paradise, honestly.

 

Dinner that night was, unsurprisingly, an ordeal. For several reasons.

Firstly, there was the fact that the only foodstuffs in the house when we arrived were a bottle of wine and a jar of oats with several dozen weevils living in it. Somehow, while fleeing London, we had managed to forget to bring anything from the larder back home (and yet Maglor somehow remembered to bring a foot-high stack of sheet music, which I found suspicious).  Eventually we dispatched Celegorm and Curufin to the village shop to find sustenance, whereupon they returned with a stack of incredibly greasy sausages and some things that claimed to be tomatoes but were  _ clearly  _ just red rocks. Secondly, the dining room was just as disgusting as the rest of the house, complete with moth-eaten Elizabethan tapestries and several rusted suits of armor that were missing heads, legs, arms, or all three.

Thirdly, conversation was nearly impossible, as it seemed everything we said led back to someone or something that we were forbidden to talk about. Even the weather.

“I must say, there is one advantage to it being horribly cloudy all the time up here,” Celegorm said at one point. “You poor redheads aren’t likely to get as sunburned and freckled as you usually do. So you can keep up your pretense of being good-looking, Maedhros.”

Maedhros snorted with laughter. “Oh, golly, do you remember when I was eighteen and went to India with Fingon and his family for his parents’ wedding anniversary? I think that was the worst sunburn I ever got.”

“When you came back,” said Maglor with a chuckle, “your face resembled nothing more than a beautiful desert sunrise.”

“I was in  _ horrible  _ pain, I’ll have you know. I couldn’t make facial expressions for a week. Uncle Fingolfin said I looked like one of those Easter Island statues painted bright red...oh, sorry Father.” At the mention of Uncle Fingolfin’s name, Dad’s face had turned so puce  _ he  _ resembled an Easter Island statue painted bright red.

“Let’s change the subject,” Amras said quickly. “This old castle, then. Does anyone know if there are any good ghost stories about it? It does seem like the sort of place.”

“Aren’t you a bit too young for ghost stories? You’ll be waking up with nightmares for a week.”

“You are  _ ten minutes older than me,  _ Amrod, don’t pretend you’re so mature. But this place, doesn’t it seem as though it would have some ghosts floating about? It reminds me of that story from when we were children, about the castle in Ireland where a different ghost would show up every time the clock chimed. Do you remember, Mum used to tell us that one, and she would do different voices for each of the ghosts...oh, sorry, Dad.”

It went on like this for some time before we realized it was far, far safer to just eat our greasy sausages in silence (no one touched the tomatoes).

Tomorrow, I decided, I would go down to the village and explore a bit. It was bound to be utterly provincial and boring, but even talking to red-faced Scottish farmers about grain prices would be far, far preferable to spending any more time with my family.

 

_ A list of statistics of Glen Formenos, compiled by Caranthir Gates _

 

Population (people): 956

Population (sheep): 4,000

Population (midges): Est. 3,000,000

Number of churches: 2

Number of pubs: 3

Average annual income: £35

Average accent: Incomprehensible

Average opinion regarding a dissolute English family moving into their derelict castle and complaining constantly: Unfavorable

 

Clearly, we had a lot of work to do.


	5. Injured Pride (Maglor and Andril)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter (and all future ones with these two) switches to third-person POV, mainly because it just seemed to suit the romantic-comedy nature of the scenario. Also, I never have any idea what I'm doing, not ever.

Nursing is a difficult profession at the best of times, particularly when one is the only person in a twenty-mile radius capable of providing medical attention. Difficult at the best of times and, at the worst, exhausting and horrifying. Such was the opinion, anyway, of Andril Hope, local nurse, midwife, and pillar of the community of Glen Formenos.

She had spent the morning out at MacReedy Farm, helping Mrs. MacReedy deliver twins; it had been an extremely difficult birth, as one of the babies had been in breach and the other had not. However, after a considerable amount of time and effort, both babies were successfully born and the mother was resting comfortably, and Annie had every intention of returning home to her small house that doubled as the village clinic, making herself a cup of tea, and listening to the gramophone she’d had shipped in from Edinburgh at considerable personal cost. 

Unfortunately, this was not meant to be, as she discovered immediately upon arriving home that she had a patient waiting for her. A young gentleman patient, sitting languidly upon the cot in the center of the room as if he owned the place.

Had Annie not been exhausted and annoyed, she may have noticed that the young gentleman in question was quite good-looking, with long dark curls, wide, brilliant eyes, and a distinctive air of confidence and command. She also might have noticed that the flamboyant red brocade jacket he wore had likely cost more money than she made in a month. 

But, being a professional as well as being exhausted and annoyed, what she mainly noticed was that one of his eyes was swollen and bruised, with a nasty-looking lump on his forehead above it, and that his expensive jacket was torn in several places and streaked with mud. 

“I see you’ve made yourself right at home, then,” Annie said, more harshly than she meant to. “I hope you’re here to receive medical attention and not because you’ve gotten lost looking for the pub.”

“Heaven  _ forbid! _ ” cried her patient, in a distinctly elegant and cultured Southern-sounding voice.  _ English _ , Annie thought,  _ of course.  _ He must have been part of that awful-sounding family who had just purchased old Castle Formenos. It certainly didn’t endear him to her. Annie had little to no patience with the wealthy English tourists who occasionally showed up during the summer, wearing kilts they had no right to wear and laughing at everyone’s accents. Granted, she hadn’t heard about any of that behavior from the castle’s new tenants yet, but it was bound to be just a matter of time.

“As I’m certain you can tell, I am quite painfully injured and have been informed that you are the only person in the village who can help me,” the young Englishman went on. “But goodness, you must forgive me, I’ve completely forgotten to introduce myself.  _ I  _ am Maglor Gates.” He said the name as though it ought to mean something to her, and indeed it did sound a bit familiar, though Annie refused to betray a flicker of recognition.

“Are you? Well, Mr. Gates, as I’m sure you are aware, I am Miss Andril Hope, known mainly as Annie.  _ You  _ may call me Nurse Hope.”

“Such a lovely surname, Hope. Quite poetic.”

“Thank you. They gave it to me at the orphanage.” Annie didn’t bother to elaborate—everyone in the village knew about her unfortunate origins, so this good-for-nothing Englishman was bound to find out sooner or later. “How on earth did you get that dreadful black eye?”

“ _ Such  _ a tragic story, honestly,” he sighed. “You may know, of course, that my family has recently acquired that charmingly derelict old castle up on the hill? Well, for perfectly normal reasons, we had to leave London in something of a hurry and didn’t think of how we would get around once we actually arrived up here. So my brilliant inventor of a father decided the only solution was to purchase an ancient horse from one of the local crofters and name him Charlemagne. Unfortunately, Monsieur Charlemagne and I had a disagreement while I was out riding today, and he threw me off, thus causing the dreadful injuries you see before you.”

“Quite a dramatic story, I must say,” Andril replied, yanking her unruly strawberry-blonde hair out of its knot and hurriedly plaiting it. “Well, Mr. Gates, there’s nothing I can do for your jacket, elegant as it is, but I can fix you up a wee remedy for the aching and give you something to put on that lump. Have a lie-down and I’ll get to work. Do you mind terribly if I put a record on the gramophone? Music helps me work, I find.”

His voice sounded oddly amused when he replied. “Not a bit, I find it helpful as well. Do go on.”

Obediently, Annie set a record on the gramophone, one that she’d acquired quite recently. The sound of cheerful violins and flutes filled the room as she headed over to her worktable to grind up some herbs.

“That tune sounds familiar.”

“Ah, yes, it’s a fairly new one. Called  _ Marzipan Kartoffeln,  _ I believe. Do you know it?”

“ _ Know  _ it? My darling girl, I  _ wrote  _ it.”

Only some very quick thinking prevented Annie from knocking her mortar and pestle onto the floor. “You  _ wrote  _ that? Saints above, I knew I recognized your name from somewhere. You’re  _ that _ Maglor Gates. The composer.”

“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid,” said Maglor with an infuriating smirk. “You like the piece, then?”

“Ach, it’s all right, I suppose,” Annie replied, attempting to save face. “But it’s an awfully silly title for a song. Who names a tune  _ marzipan potatoes? _ ”

“I do,” Maglor said, looking mildly hurt. “Marzipan potatoes are wonderful. They’re practically all I ate when I was a student in Vienna.”

“As a nurse, I feel I ought to tell you that’s not very healthy.”

“But  _ so  _ good for one’s creativity. Oh, Lord, do you expect me to put that stuff on my face?”

“I will put it on for you, but it’s going on your face because it will soothe the inflamation,” said Annie firmly. “Please get some of that dratted hair out of your eyes and let me work.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Maglor flicked one errant curl off his forehead and lay back on the cot, allowing Annie to daub some of the unpleasant-smelling green paste onto his skin. “Why does this smell like an old woman’s house?”

“Because it’s good for you, sassenach. Now hush.”

By the time the recording of  _ Marzipan Kartoffeln  _ ended, the green paste on Maglor’s eye was dry, leaving a considerably lessened bruise and swelling when Andril deftly cleaned it off. 

“Good, that seems to be looking better,” Annie said briskly. “Now here, I’ve mixed up this powder for you. You’ll want to mix some of this with hot water and drink it before bed, it’s good for calming headaches. Doesn’t taste particularly nice, but then, it  _ is  _ medicine.”

“Well, that’s all very well and good. But tell me something honestly, Nurse Hope. Will I ever play the violin again?”

Annie raised an eyebrow. “Well, Mr. Gates, considering that you’ve only injured your head and not your hands or arms, I shouldn’t think playing the violin would be an issue.”

“Precisely as I thought. Such a relief.”

“Then why on earth did you bother to ask me about it?”

Maglor grinned. “To impress you by bragging about my musical abilities, of course. Is it working?”

“Not particularly, I’m afraid,” Annie said with a shrug. “We are in Scotland, after all, half the village plays the fiddle and the other half plays the pipes.”

“Ah, but has half the village played the fiddle before the crowned heads of Europe?”

“Of course not, why would they want to? The only crowned head anyone around here recognizes is Bonnie Prince Charlie.”

Maglor cocked his head to one side. “Will you marry me?”

“Absolutely not,” said Annie in horror. “Why in the world would you ask me that, you mad sassenach?”

“Well, the rest of this conversation was going so well, I thought it was worth an attempt.”

“It was  _ not  _ worth an attempt. Please get out of my house and don’t come back until you’ve learned some sense.”

Maglor hopped obediently off the cot and winked at her, stuffing the small package of headache powder in his pocket. Standing up, he was quite tall, practically towering over her (though Andril, being a petite woman, was used to this). “It’s a deal, darling. The next time I see you I fully intend to be unbearably sensible.”

“ _ Leave. _ ”

 

The five youngest Gates brothers were busying themselves in the kitchen, attempting to arrange something vaguely edible for luncheon, when Maglor burst in, whistling cheerfully and throwing himself onto one of the benches next to the kitchen table.

“Lads,” he declared, “I do believe I’m in love.”

“Good Lord, not again,” grumbled Caranthir, who was reluctantly assisting Celegorm in plucking a pheasant. “We can’t take you anywhere.”

“Oh, honestly, Caranthir, do be reasonable, it’s completely different this time.”

“ _ Different,  _ is it?” Celegorm grinned. “Is that not what he said about the Russian ballerina? Not to mention the French painter…”

“And the actress from Belfast,” Curufin added with a smirk. “And that girl from Munich who played the accordion. So out with it, old boy. What in the  _ world  _ did you manage to fall in love with this time? We’re too far out in the country for her to be as brilliant and bohemian as most of your amours, but needs must…”

“What are we arguing about this time?” Maedhros asked brightly as he entered the kitchen with a basket of withered-looking herbs. “Dear heavens, Maglor, what happened to your eye? I expect the middle three here to be getting into fistfights but you generally manage to avoid them.”

“Yes, I meant to ask you about that as well,” Curufin said. “Trouble in paradise already? Did your new lady friend give you that after you talked her ear off for two solid hours?”

“New lady friend?  _ Do  _ tell,” said Maedhros. “I’m dying for some gossip that isn’t horribly unpleasant.”

“I’ll have you lot know that the black eye is from a  _ completely  _ unrelated riding accident, courtesy of that horrible cart-horse Dad purchased. And the lady in question is the local nurse, midwife, and witch who was instrumental in treating my horrible injury.”

“A  _ nurse? _ ” Amrod shook his head in surprise. “You’ve gone and fallen in love with a nurse? Quite a change of pace for you, I must say. Usually you only go for girls just as pretentious and artistic as yourself.”

“Well, she’s certainly got a bit of an artistic side, she had a gramophone and a huge volume of Robert Burns poetry in her clinic. Not to mention that she is extremely pretty and extremely rude to me, both of which are  _ very  _ attractive qualities.”

“Pretty, is she? Go on, tell us everything,” said Celegorm, yanking off a few pheasant tail feathers with unnecessary force. “It feels like bloody  _ years  _ since I’ve seen a pretty girl.”

“We have been up here for  _ four days,  _ Celegorm, you lecher. Control yourself,” said Maglor primly. “But yes, she is very good-looking...on the small side, reddish-yellow hair, blue eyes. Lovely smile, though I didn’t see much of it. I suppose there’s always next time, though.”

“Unless she darts across the road every time she sees you from now on,” Amras put in. “Which  _ has  _ happened before.”

“Amras, it was  _ you  _ that that happened to.”

“Don’t split hairs, it’s very unattractive. Now someone please get me some more eggs, I’ve dropped half of them on the floor.”

 

All jokes aside, there  _ was  _ something oddly intriguing about Nurse Hope, Maglor reflected later. Perhaps it was her shrewd, steady gaze, or her cool hands and brisk manner, or the way her eyes had lit up when she’d turned on her gramophone...

Either way, he was fairly certain he was right this time. Annie Hope might be many things, but what she was for certain was  _ different. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andril Hope is a character I came up with some time ago and have been looking for an excuse to use ever since. I think she's doing fairly well here in her role as Sassy Scottish Midwife.
> 
> Maglor is such a hopeless romantic, it's annoying. For the record, all those girls broke up with HIM, not the other way around.
> 
> (And, fun fact: "sassenach" is a Scottish word for "foreigner," aka "English person," aka "the worst")


	6. Visitors (Curufin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey look Melkor's in this one. Also, everyone is having an extremely bad time.

By the time we had lived in Castle Formenos for about a month, the place was in much better shape than how we had found it, largely thanks to none of us having anything better to do with our time. Father and I had even managed to rig up a couple of electric lights in the dining room and workshop, and had installed a safe made of two-inch-thick iron in which to store the GADs. It was a decent start, though Father and I both agreed it wasn’t quite enough and spent a good deal of time thinking of additional security measures.

My good-for-nothing brothers, meanwhile, continued to fill their time with the usual ridiculous pursuits: Maedhros wrote long letters and stomped around looking upset, Maglor played the harpsichord and chased after that Scottish nurse he was obsessed with, Celegorm found new kinds of animals to kill, Caranthir micro-managed the household accounts, and the twins made endless nuisances of themselves. It was fortunate that around this time we received word that my grandfather was coming to visit, as we were all desperately in need of someone sane to talk to.

Granddad, when he arrived from London, was characteristically cheerful, remarking on how interesting and atmospheric the castle was and how beneficial the country air was, and telling all of us that even though we were adults he could  _ swear  _ we were still growing every minute. Father didn’t even lose his temper when Granddad mentioned how much Mother missed us all—somehow, having our beloved grandfather about the place seemed to calm everyone down.

“So! Tell me everything,” said Granddad, as we all settled down to dinner that evening. “I trust you boys have been keeping yourselves busy? Of course, I know Scotland is hardly London, but your Granny Miriel and I used to have some wonderful times up here when we were first married.”

“Busy is putting is strongly, perhaps,” Maglor said thoughtfully. “Busy  _ cleaning,  _ I suppose. I’ve very nearly gotten all the mice out of the harpsichord.”

“Aren’t you going to tell Granddad what  _ else  _ you’ve been busy with?” teased Celegorm, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Ouch. And  _ no,  _ I am not bringing up Annie, it isn’t as though anything has actually happened…”

“You simply can’t bring something like that up and expect me not to be curious, my darling boy,” Granddad said with a chuckle. “Come now, who is this Annie person?”

“She’s the local midwife,” said Amras. “Maglor is madly in love with her because she’s so rude to him.”

“He’s proposed to her three times already and she keeps saying no,” I explained. “Which proves to me that she is very sensible and should steer clear of all of us.”

“I have heard this same conversation,” Father interrupted, “over twenty times in the last three weeks. As fascinating as this young woman undoubtedly is, surely we can find a new topic to discuss?”

Silence fell, as none of us wanted to point out the obvious: that since we had been trapped in the country for a month and almost nothing had happened, there  _ were  _ no new topics to discuss.

Unsurprisingly, Granddad eventually brought the subject around to Uncle Fingolfin. It is a testament to how close my father and grandfather are that Father actually let him continue in this vein for more than thirty seconds.

“He does miss you, you know. I think he realizes now how silly your argument was, and that you both really ought to put it behind you.”

“That’s as may be. But the fact is that if he expects  _ me  _ to be the only one to apologize he is sorely mistaken.”

“I understand that you are upset, Fëanor. Truly I do. But surely you realize that you must talk to your brother eventually…”

“Half-brother,” said Father firmly. “And I don’t feel we ought to be discussing this in front of the boys. Suffice to say that I have no intention of returning to London within the forseeable future, and if I ever decide otherwise I will immediately inform you. More pheasant?”

Clearly, it was the end of the discussion.

 

A few days later, I was searching for Father in order to show him a new kind of spring I was fairly certain I had invented independently when there came an extremely loud pounding at the door.

“All right, all right, hold on!” Father shouted, appearing from around a corner and hurrying to the door and flinging it open before taking a step back in horror.

Standing outside was a large man, nearly tall and broad enough to fill the entire door frame, with an elegantly waxed mustache and distinctly wild dark eyes. I recognized him at once, of course. He had been the subject of a very serious family meeting between my brothers and I some five years earlier and a plague on society for far longer than that. Melkor Bauglir, infamous criminal, who had been trying to get Father on his side for years.

I am not proud of what I did next, which was to duck behind a pillar and peer out so I could view the proceedings undetected.

“What are you doing here?” Father snapped.

“And a very good morning to you, too, Mr. Gates,” said Melkor, with a brilliant smile. “Do please forgive the intrusion, but I have been wanting to speak to you for quite some time, and you’re a difficult man to get an appointment with.”

“How did you find me?”

“It did take me awhile to track you down,” Mr. Bauglir said ruefully. “I must admit, I never imagined the illustrious Fëanor Gates living somewhere quite so…” He glanced around at the dusty hallway. “Rustic.”

“Castle Formenos is perfectly adequate,” replied Father. “And usually very  _ private _ .”

**“** Oh, it’s a lovely spot for certain,” said Melkor. “And safe enough for your family, I’m sure. But are you entirely certain it’s secure enough for...certain objects? Certain  _ diamonds,  _ I ought to say?”

Father gaped at him open-mouthed, which would have been funny if the whole situation hadn’t been horrifying. “How did you know about the...how did you know about those?” he demanded.

Mr. Bauglir smirked. “I have eyes everywhere, Mr. Gates, surely you know that. Even in the post office.”

Father looked shocked, but not more shocked than I most likely did. There were only ten people in the world who were supposed to know about the GADs, and every one of us was sworn to absolute secrecy. And yet someone—most likely one of my idiot brothers—had gone and  _ written someone a letter about them _ . It boggled the mind, it truly did.

“I won’t have you coming into my home and trying to talk to me about my own personal property,” said Father. “You have no right, Melkor. No right.”

“But my good man, just think of the profits that could be made! With the kind of money this artificial-gem process of yours could bring in, we could do extraordinary things. Wonderful things.”

“Illegal things, no doubt.” Father’s voice sounded distinctly unimpressed. “You have got some nerve, Mr. Bauglir. Just gotten out of prison and you’re already trying once again to destroy half of Britain.”

“Not Britain this time, Mr. Gates,” said Melkor eagerly. “This time, I am thinking of somewhere else for my pursuits...somewhere Mr. Mandos and his Home Office won’t be able to touch us.  _ America _ .”

“America?”

“Indeed, the US of A. I have connections all over the place across the pond—New York, Boston, Chicago, San Francisco—and I have plenty of influence. We’d be kings of the New World, Mr. Gates. You and I.”

There was a long silence, which worried me; surely, Father wasn’t considering this? Our family had always been on the side of law and order (well, if not order, certainly law). If I hadn’t been rudely eavesdropping I certainly would have said something, but I managed to keep my mouth shut.

“I will tell you this one time, Melkor,” Father hissed at last. “One time, so you had best listen carefully. I want no part in whatever schemes you are planning. I have no interest in using my inventions to further your ill-gotten gains. Now get the hell off my property, jailbird, before I turn you into fertilizer.”

And with that, he slammed the door in Melkor Bauglir’s face.

I had never been prouder of my father in my life, and that was saying quite a lot.

 

Unsurprisingly, the revelation that someone had been writing easily interceptable letters about the GADs prompted Father to call everyone together in the dining room for one of our patented Family Meetings. To say that it was tense would be a vast understatement.

“I have called us together because one of you has made an exceedingly stupid mistake,” Father began, eyeing each of us in turn. “I naturally will not accuse you, Father, as I only told you about the GADs three days ago and you would never betray any of our family secrets. But the fact remains that somehow, Melkor Bauglir has found out about the existence of the most important things we own by having someone read our post, which means that one of you was foolish enough to write to someone about them.”

“Oh, honestly,” Caranthir said with a grimace. “Who would be idiotic enough to do something like that?”

“That is precisely what I intend to find out. It will go much better for whoever is responsible,” Father added, “if you tell me the truth immediately rather than forcing me to find out for myself.”

“You’re quite right, of course,” said Maedhros. “It was me.”

Everyone turned to stare at him in surprise. I don’t think any of us had previously realized Maedhros was capable of being irresponsible.

“You?” said Granddad, wide-eyed. “Maedhros, whatever do you mean?”

“I’m afraid I mentioned the GADs in a letter to Fingon,” Maedhros explained calmly. “Naturally, I had no idea it would lead to all this. I’m very sorry, Dad, I never imagined our letters would be spied upon.”

Maglor patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. “You mustn’t be too hard on yourself, old boy. He most likely would have found out one way or another eventually.”

“He may have, or he may not have, and either way we may now be in incredible danger,” said Father. He looked so furious I fully expected Maedhros to burst into flames at any moment. “Maedhros, you are thirty-one years of age and therefore sadly too old for me to punish you, but know this: I am deeply, deeply disappointed in your actions. You ought to be far past the age where you feel the need to gossip to your friends about everything in your life. And I will be keeping a very, very close eye on every letter that is sent out of this castle from now on. Meeting adjourned.” He stood and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Er,” said Maedhros, ashen-faced and looking as though he was about to cry. “Sorry, everyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mandos is definitely head of the Home Office. Now I just need to figure out what important government positions the rest of the Valar have...


	7. Judgement Day (Maglor and Andril)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt our regularly scheduled Irish Guilt to bring you some Romantic Comedy Nonsense.  
> 

Since their somewhat embarrassing meeting some weeks earlier, Annie had run into Maglor Gates several times around the village, usually when she was entirely too busy to be chatting. Somehow, despite his flighty nature, his (presumably sarcastic) marriage proposals, and his wilful insistence on being an Englishman, the two of them had managed to strike up an odd sort of friendship, consisting mainly of jokes, village gossip, and occasional music.

(Annie had to admit that, the first time she’d gone into the pub and heard him singing an old Scottish tune with a few of the old men, it had sent shivers up her spine. Not that  _ he  _ needed to know that)

And so it didn’t really surprise her, when she was sitting in MacGillavry’s Bar on an unseasonably chilly autumn day, to see a rather dejected-looking Maglor enter and sink down at one of the tables.

“Ah, brilliant,” said Annie wryly, loud enough that he glanced up. “You again?”

Maglor looked up at her wearily. “Oh, hullo, Miss Hope. Listen, I know we usually exchange some witty banter at about this time, but I’m afraid I’m fresh out of witticisms at the moment. It’s been...a difficult day.” His face crumpled at the end of his sentence as though he was about to cry, and Annie had to resist the urge to pat him on the head like a child. Instead, she picked up her mug of hot cider and dropped into the seat across from him.

“Would you feel better if you talked about it?” she asked. And, when he hesitated, “Go on, I promise I won’t tease. I’ll be like one of those newfangled alienists and just nod and listen and occasionally ask after your mother.” It had been meant as a joke, but Annie immediately regretted it, as at the word “mother” Maglor looked even more miserable.

“There isn’t much use asking about Mother,” he said softly. “I’m sure she’s well rid of the lot of us, much as we miss her. But in truth, it’s my father who is worrying me. He and my older brother are in the midst of a...well, a conflict.”

“Ah.” Annie hadn’t yet met Fëanor Gates, somewhat to her relief, though she had glimpsed him around the village—a tall, sturdy, and distinctly impatient-looking man, who spoke with a quiet ferocity. She could well imagine how dreadful it would be to have any kind of conflict with him. “What happened?”

It was a rude question, but fortunately Maglor didn’t seem to mind. “Well, it has to do with my uncles, really. Dad doesn’t get on with them, as they’re his half-brothers really, and doesn’t think any of us ought to associate with them. But my older brother, Maedhros, he’s best mates with one of our cousins, and they tell each other everything. And, as it turns out, ‘everything’ includes ‘private family business that is  _ verboten  _ to discuss.’ Dad found out, of course, and was furious with Maedhros, and now everything around the house is unbearably tense. Even Granddad can’t sort things out, and he’s the most diplomatic person in the family.”

“How awful.” Annie was no stranger to conflict; she’d seen plenty of fights in both her orphanage in Aberdeen and over the course of her work as a nurse. But it was somehow jarring to learn that posh people like the Gates family had silly and painful family squabbles as well.

“It seems to me,” she said slowly, “that your relatives do not react well to being confined to small spaces together. And the fact that you can’t go home most likely does not help.” Maglor flushed, and Annie shot him a small smile. “Oh, yes, I know all about the Trafalgar Square incident. Everyone does. Did you think we don’t get newspapers up here? But you needn’t be embarrassed, it’s hardly your fault who your father fights with.”

“I hate him sometimes,” Maglor whispered, so vehemently the air around them seemed colder. “Isn’t that an awful thing to say about one’s own father? But I can’t help it. All his feuds and obsessions make everything terrible for everyone around him, and it’s us who get the worst of it. Poor Maedhros is the most responsible one of my brothers and now he’s drowning in guilt just because he wrote a letter to his friend. And I...bloody hell, I just want to go  _ home. _ ”

Andril wasn’t entirely sure what to say, so she said nothing. Instead, much to her own surprise, she reached over and gently patted his hand.

“I truly am sorry,” she said. “I suppose there’s nothing I can do, but you can always ask me if there is. And say, nothing your father does can ever be as silly as the feud between Mr. MacReedy and Mr. Lewis...they fought for three years, all because of a pig! A pig, honestly.”

Maglor laughed shakily, then looked up at her, eyes suddenly brilliant. “I  _ say,  _ Miss Hope, there may be something you can do to help me after all. I believe you mentioned that being cooped up with no one to talk to but each other is what’s causing my relatives so much pain?”

“Er...yes?”

“And so, surely, having someone new to talk to would be a great relief for everyone. Which is why I think you really ought to come over for dinner. Friday, I think. Yes, Friday will do, it’ll give us time to decide what food to have...certainly not those sausages from the village shop, no offense to Mr. MacDougall…”

“You are getting  _ very  _ far ahead of yourself, Mr. Gates,” Annie reprimanded. “For one thing, are you certain your family would want me as a dinner guest?”

“Why not? I’ve been telling them all about you for weeks now and the vast majority of them are extremely keen to meet you. Not so much Caranthir and Curufin, but then they’re never particularly keen to meet  _ anyone,  _ and I am certain once they meet you they will absolutely adore you.”

He was simply being friendly, Annie knew. Being friendly and trying to distract himself and his family from all their problems. But it was hard not to feel a bit flattered when he said he’d been talking about her for weeks. Plenty of girls, she thought, would have been fairly jealous.

“Fine,” she said, interrupting Maglor as he continued to list reasons for her to come. “I will join you for dinner. Not only that, but I will bring cheese scones.  _ But _ ,” she went on, “if you propose to me one more time— _ one more time _ —not only will I not come to dinner but I will give you back that black eye I fixed for you.”

Maglor sighed. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Hope. Very well. But I have two caveats. Firstly, we stop with the Miss and Mister and call one another by our Christian names, like proper friends.”

Annie swallowed and nodded. “And the second?”

“The second,” Maglor said solemnly, “is that you do  _ not  _ fall in love with my brother Maedhros. It will be difficult, I know, but you really must try or I will be utterly devastated.”

“Oh, honestly,” said Annie, rolling her eyes. “I’ve already got one useless Englishman following me around, do you really think I want another? Besides, better the devil you know than the devil you don’t, I always say.”

“Am I the devil you know, then?”

“I suppose so.” Annie finished off her drink and stood. “Until Friday then, Mr. Gates.”

“Maglor.”

“Maglor, then. Until Friday.”

 

Glen Formenos being in Scotland, it began raining early Friday morning and absolutely refused to let up.

The weather did little to relieve Maglor’s already strained nerves. His brothers had been teasing him nonstop since he’d informed them Annie was coming to dinner, and he was slightly worried that one of them (particularly the middle three) would say something to humiliate either him or Annie to the point where she would never speak to him again. Fëanor, on the other hand, had been fairly unenthusiastic about the whole dinner party; when Maglor had inquired if he might invite a friend, his father had merely grunted and returned to his worktable. It seemed as though he became more withdrawn every day, only speaking to Curufin and, occasionally, Grandfather Finwë. Maglor didn’t have many expectations for his father’s behavior—as long as he said good evening and didn’t insult anyone, that would have to do.

And then there was Maedhros, of course.

Painful as it was to admit, Maglor absolutely hated introducing any girl he fancied to his handsome and charismatic older brother. There had been plenty of times as a youngster when he’d been introduced to a girl who seemed to quite like him, only to have her get completely distracted and flustered the minute Maedhros showed up. And if Annie, who made Maglor feel slightly dizzy and almost unbearably inspired every time he thought of her, went the way of so many others...well, Maglor had a nasty feeling he might be tempted to give Maedhros a black eye.

_ Don’t think about that, _ he told himself firmly, sitting down at the now mouse-free harpsichord and tapping out the beginnings of a tune that had been floating around in his head for several days.  _ She likes you, she  _ does. Why else had she been willing to sit and listen to him complain, and offer such insightful advice, just as Mother always used to? Annie really was quite a bit like Nerdanel, in all the best ways.

_ And  _ she’d called him “the devil she knew.”

 

As the castle was just slightly too far outside of the village, someone had to head into town with the cart and horse and fetch Miss Hope for dinner. Maglor had every intention of doing so himself, but had been informed firmly that he was the  _ only  _ one capable of frying potatoes correctly and was confined to the kitchen. Privately, he thought that everyone just wanted a chance to interrogate Annie one-on-one, and was thoroughly relieved when Grandfather Finwë was selected to do the honors. The near-hour that he spent waiting for them to return, though, seemed endless.

“You’re looking positively green, old boy,” said Celegorm with a smirk, pulling the roast meat out of the oven. “Worried she’ll see me and forget all about you? Well, I won’t say you’re wrong…”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” said Maglor, and immediately regretted it. 

“Oh, it’s Maedhros who’s your rival, is it? I won’t say you’re wrong there either, though he’s in disgrace so he may not be in much of a seducing mood...oy, watch it, those are hot!”

For Maglor, thoroughly sick of the conversation, had flicked a fried potato at him.

The venison had been carved, a bottle of wine selected, and ten places set at the dinner table when Maglor heard his grandfather’s booming laughter echoing down the hall, following by a bright female giggle. He felt his stomach clench with nerves. Maedhros was late, and Maglor berated himself for hoping his brother wouldn’t make it downstairs at all. Then there was no chance to think of anything else at all, as Finwë entered the dining room, grinning widely and escorting a damp but radiant-looking Annie. She carried a basket of something delicious-smelling and wore a green velvet dress that, while old-fashioned, Maglor found thoroughly becoming.

“Ah, boys!” Finwë said cheerfully. “This delightful young lady has just been telling me some excellent stories from the annual Highland Games, I do hope we’ll be able to see them this year. Now, Miss Hope, you must let me introduce you to everyone. This is my son Fëanor, and most of my lovely grandsons—Maglor you know, of course, and here is Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, and Amras. And now, where is...ah, here’s Maedhros!” he added, as the eldest Gates boy had chosen this moment to enter the room, looking no less handsome than usual despite a distinct air of melancholy. Maglor found himself crossing his fingers behind his back as Annie looked at each person in turn, lingering on Maedhros for a painfully long moment…

“It’s a great pleasure to meet all of you,” Annie said at last. “You have a lovely home. Maglor, you’ve still got your apron on, did you know? It’s quite a nice on but I’m not certain it’s exactly right for a dinner party.”

Maglor almost collapsed in relief. If Andril was teasing him, even after meeting Maedhros, that could only mean one thing.

He was  _ safe. _

 

“So, Miss Hope,” said Fëanor appraisingly, as everyone dug into their food. “Tell us something of yourself. How long have you lived in Glen Formenos?”

“Nearly twelve years, I believe,” Annie replied. “Maglor has most likely told you I was raised in a convent orphanage in Aberdeen, and the nuns trained me in nursing. It was Sister Mary Martha who got me the position here in Glen Formenos; an old friend of hers had been the previous midwife and I came here to take over from her. I must say, I have never regretted it.”

“And that would make you how old, exactly?” Caranthir asked bluntly. Maglor had to resist the urge to slap him for being so ill-mannered; surely he knew never to ask a lady her age?

“Do you know, I’m not quite sure,” Annie said thoughtfully. “I must be nearly thirty, though it was never made clear exactly how old I was when the nuns took me in. Though as Sister Mary Martha used to say, I’m as old as my tongue and a little older than my teeth.”

There was a pause, and then a miracle occured: Caranthir chuckled. “It’s a good line, that,” he said. “I may have to use it.”

“Honestly, Caranthir, haven’t we English stolen enough from the Scots?” Maedhros said. He seemed to be in a somewhat improved mood, though he hadn’t spoken to Fëanor the entire meal. “At least give Miss Hope fivepence every time you use it.”

“Give it to Sister Mary Martha, really,” said Annie. “She could probably use it more than me.”

“Certain of that, are you?” Curufin said, eyeing her carefully. “It’s a small village, this. Can’t imagine nursing is particularly lucrative.”

“ _ Curufin! _ ” hissed Maglor. “What is  _ wrong  _ with you?”

“Terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Curufin said innocently. “Just curious, really.”

“I can’t say I’m particularly wealthy, no,” said Annie. Her face was flushed, but her tone was calm. “But fortunately, we look out for our own in this village. You may learn that, if you stay here long enough. Then again, you may not.”

“Personally, I think we’re quite lucky that we know a nurse now,” Celegorm put in quickly. “All of us tend to injure ourselves with startling regularity. Curufin once burnt his finger so badly we thought it had turned to charcoal. And the funny part was, it wasn’t even in the smithy—he was trying to fry eggs! Do you remember that, Curufin?”

Curufin glared at his brother murderously. “Yes, and I also remember when Maglor was leaning over a candle and, because he refuses to go to a barber, his hair caught on fire and he sulked for a week.”

“So would you, if you had my hair,” Maglor retorted. “Do you remember when the twins hid under the dinner table at Granddad’s house to try and scare everyone, but they got into a fight and pulled down the tablecloth and broke half the dishes?”

“It was still a fairly good prank, honestly.”

“Goodness, what adventures you all have,” said Annie with a grin. “Perhaps you ought to keep me on retainer.”

“I think we ought to keep you on retainer just for your cheese scones,” said Amras, who had already eaten half of them. “Could you come over for dinner every week, please?”

“I don’t know,” said Annie, shooting Maglor a brilliant smile. “But I wouldn’t mind doing so, really.”

 

Maglor absolutely insisted on driving Annie home at the end of the night. Things had gone fairly well at dinner, he thought, but there was absolutely no way he was going let Annie ride home in the cart with anyone else.

“Did you...did you enjoy yourself, then?” he managed, as Charlemagne the horse pulled them down the bumpy country road.

“I did, in fact. Though I must say, I’m quite upset with you.”

Maglor blinked in horror. “Why?”

“You made it sound as though your family were a horrid bunch of criminals,” said Annie. “But that’s not true at all, is it? Certainly, they don’t censor their words and your father is a bit distracted, but they’re not too bad, not really.”

“So…” Maglor felt a strange, wild happiness rising in his chest. “You liked them?”

“Aye, they’re a decent lot. I suppose I can see why they’d occasionally annoy you, and of course I’m not an expert on how things are between you all, but they were certainly friendly enough to  _ me _ . And they love you loads, anyone can see that.”

“I thought...well, I suppose I thought you’d be horrified by them and never want to speak to me again.”

“To be frank, I’m a bit jealous of you, Mr. G...Maglor,” said Annie. “You must know how lucky you are, to have such a large family with so much energy and love. Some people never have that.”

Maglor wasn’t sure whether he wanted to burst into tears, to kiss her, or both. He resisted the urge to do either, and instead took her hand gently in his.

“Annie,” he said. “I know I usually propose to you about now…”

“And if you do, you’ve got a black eye coming.”

“Yes, which is why I’m not going to. Instead, I have a serious question. I’ve just heard a friend of mine is directing a production of Mozart’s  _ The Magic Flute  _ in Edinburgh in three weeks. Would you...would you like to see it? As my guest, of course.”

There was a long pause as Annie considered.  _ Please,  _ Maglor prayed fervently,  _ please say yes, and I’ll never ask for anything again. _

“Ach, all right, then,” Annie said finally. “Yes, I think I would enjoy that.”

It was so, so difficult not to whoop and punch the air. Maglor managed it, but only just.

 

“She’s quite intelligent, that friend of yours,” Maedhros remarked as they washed the dishes later that night. “Nice-looking, too.”

“I know,” said Maglor dreamily, scrubbing a pot extremely badly. “Isn’t she just?”

“And she seems quite taken with you, though I expect you’d noticed.”

Maglor dropped the pot to the bottom of the basin, splashing them both with soapy water. “Is she? Do you really think so?”

“Oh, naturally,” said Maedhros, wiping soap out of his eye. “She kept glancing over at you while she was talking to the rest of us. These Scots may not be very demonstrative, but I, being a connoisseur, can always tell.”

“Wonderful. Then I needn’t ask you to hide in the cellar every time she comes to visit.”

“Gracious, Maglor, did you honestly think she would prefer  _ me? _ ”

“Well, yes. They so often do, you know. Who would pay the slightest mind to me when gorgeous red-haired Maedhros Gates is in the room?”

“Oh, my dear little brother,” said Maedhros with a sigh, shaking his head. “You don’t know  _ anything. _ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Victorian Fact: an "alienist" is actually what they called a psychologist. I think this is a great word and we should bring it back,


	8. London (Maedhros)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros attempts to solve everyone's problems, with very mixed results.

If I had to stay confined to quarters in the castle for one more day, I knew for a fact that I would go mad as a hatter. Dad still wasn’t speaking to me, and most of my brothers were too intimidated to bring up anything regarding the incident. Maglor, who was usually the one I confided in, had been extremely distracted recently and spent most of his time in his room playing the same tune over and over again. I didn’t begrudge him any happiness, but it was a bit hard on me.

And so, I began making plans to escape.

Not permanently, of course; I knew realistically I couldn’t stay away for more than a few days. But if I could get down to London for a bit, talk to Mum and Fingon—talk to  _ anyone _ , really, who didn’t think I was a disgrace—it might make Glen Formenos somewhat more bearable.

There was a train station in the village, a small one, left over from days when Glen Formenos was a considerably wealthier town. I’d managed to talk the twins into giving me a ride, as they thought anything to do with defying Father and causing trouble was wildly funny. They also insisted on giving me advice as though I was a spy for Her Majesty’s Secret Service, not simply visiting Mum.

“I really think you ought to dye your hair, you know. Certainly, being an excessively tall redhead might be perfectly ordinary in Scotland, but the minute you set foot in London you’ll be dragged off to Newgate Prison.”

“Why on earth would  _ I  _ be dragged off to Newgate Prison, Amras? I haven’t been pulling pistols on anyone.”

“Oh, it’s nothing to do with pistols,” Amrod snickered. “You’ll be arrested for snoring too loudly. We told the London police all about it and they’re probably waiting at Paddington Station for you.”

“You know, if you two would like the rest of us to start treating you like adults, you really ought to start  _ acting  _ like adults.”

The twins looked at each other, before shaking their heads and chorusing, “No, thank you.”

“Oh, just let me off here, I’ll walk the rest of the way to London.”

“Good choice, they’ll never catch you if you arrive by foot. Though I still say you should dye your hair.”

“Hush, child.”

 

The train journey to London was long and exhausting, but I finally made it back to our London home late that evening. It was a good thing I had brought my old key with me, since the front door was locked tight and there was no response when I knocked. 

“Hello?” I called hesitantly as I unlocked the door and entered. There was no reply; the house was eerily quiet, when it was usually bursting with the sounds of work and music and shouting. Wandering upstairs, I could see that Mum and Dad’s bedroom door was slightly open, though when I peeked in it was plain that Mum was not at home.

We’d always been under strict orders as children to  _ never  _ enter our parents’ bedroom without permission (considering how many children Mum and Dad produced, that was hardly surprising). Still, I couldn’t resist pushing the door open a bit further and peering inside. The room was thoroughly empty of life, and a bit dusty, as though no one had been inside for several days. Looking around, I could see that the bed was neatly made and the wardrobe was nearly empty of Mum’s practical skirts and blouses, though all her formal dresses were still there.

_ She’s gone,  _ I thought frantically.  _ Oh, bloody hell, she’s gone. Mum’s disappeared and it’s all our fault.  _

Had she gone back to Ireland, to visit her parents? But surely she would have told one of us, if that was the case. Wouldn’t she? None of us had heard anything from Mum since we’d gone to Scotland, not one letter or telegram. Anything could have happened, anything at all.

I began anxiously pacing the room, looking for anything, any clue at all to where Mum could have gone, when something caught my eye. On the writing desk in the corner were piled dozens of sheets of paper, crumpled and smudged, covered in sentence fragments. I could only make out a few words and phrases:  _ boys, those bloody things, your mother, help.  _ The rest of the writing was blurred by what had to be tears.

Much to my shame, I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. Mum had tried to write to us, that much was plain. But she couldn’t. We had hurt her far too much. 

Suppressing a sob, I took off my jacket and flopped down on my parents’ bed, praying that when I woke up the next morning I would have some idea what to do.

 

Granddad’s townhouse was in Mayfair, close to Hyde Park, and usually being there brought back wonderful memories: Christmas dinners, playing in the garden, birthday parties. Today, though, it just made me feel a bit sad. What must poor Granny Indis be feeling, having her husband away up in Scotland and leaving her to sort out the rest of the family by herself?

Steeling myself, I lifted up the door knocker (a great heavy one engraved with the family crest) and knocked three times in quick succession.

The door was opened a moment later, to my surprise, by my aunt Eärwen, dressed in a bright blue morning gown with her silvery-blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders.

“Oh, goodness, it’s you,” she said in her fluttery Welsh accent. “I mean...it is lovely to see you, Maedhros dear, but we weren’t expecting you at all...does your mother know you’ve come?”

“She doesn’t. And the unfortunate part is, I can’t seem to find her, she’s not at home. I thought she might be here visiting Granny Indis.”

“You’re quite right, she is. Lady Indis insisted your mum come stay with us for a while after...well, you know.” Aunt Eärwen lowered her voice nervously. “I try to come and visit whenever I can. Poor Nerdanel is a bit distraught, at the moment. But I think...yes, I’m  _ certain  _ that seeing you will cheer her up considerably. Do come in.”

She didn’t sound certain at all that I would cheer Mum up, not really. I wondered grimly what she meant by  _ distraught.  _ It wasn’t an emotion I usually associated with my brisk and clever mother. And of course the very  _ thought  _ of making Mum upset made me nearly sick with guilt.

“I believe she’ll be out in the back garden at the moment,” Aunt Eärwen went on, briskly guiding me through the halls (was she trying to get me out of the way before Granny Indis saw me?). “Isn’t it wonderful how the weather is still so pleasant outside? Though I’m sure it’s quite chilly up in Scotland...oh, good morning, Nerdanel dear! Look who’s here, isn’t it a nice surprise?”

We had arrived in the garden, and it was indeed a pleasant and sunny day, though my attention was entirely focused on the unhappy-looking figure wrapped in a black shawl sitting on a bench in front of a hydrangea bush. I swallowed hard. Mum, usually so energetic and confident, looked fragile and pained, as though she had aged ten years in the last two months. She did, however, manage a small but genuine smile when she looked up at me.

“‘Tis a nice surprise indeed,” she said softly. “Do come sit down, Maedhros. Eärwen, would you excuse us for a bit?”

“Oh...yes, of course, Nell dear. Come fetch me or one of the servants if you need some tea.” Aunt Eärwen shot me one last confused look before drifting back towards the house.

“So,” said Mum after a moment. “This is...unexpected, dear. What brings you down from Scotland?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I said, surprised. “I wanted to come see you, Mum. I miss you, we all do. And you haven’t written to us, so…”

“Ah. Yes. You must forgive me for that. I truly did want to, but ‘twas difficult to know what to say. But I miss you too, you must know that.”

“I just...I cannot understand it, Mum. I completely sympathize with your being upset with Father, but surely if you just talked it out…? Won’t you please, please come up to Scotland, even if just for a visit?”

“Oh, my love,” Mum said softly, reaching up to stroke my hair. “I would, you know I would. But there are things between your father and I that have been very wrong for a long time. And if we’re ever to go back to being a proper married couple again, we desperately need some time apart.”

It was almost impossible to contemplate. My parents had, for as long as I’d known them, been a team, an unbreakable partnership. If that fell apart, how could anything in the universe hold together?

“But Mum…” I choked out. “Mum, we  _ need  _ you.”

Mum shook her head firmly. “You are adults, Maedhros. Every last one of you. Young adults, certainly, but you do not need your mother.  _ Or  _ your father. Remember that, my love. People exist outside of their families, and  _ you are not responsible for everyone else. _ ”

_ But I am,  _ I wanted to say.  _ I have to be. Because with a few exceptions, no one seems to be willing to be responsible for themselves _

I didn’t say it, though. Instead, I pulled Mum into a hug, kissed the top of her head, and told her every insignificant and silly detail about what everyone had been up to in Scotland, and laughed at her stories about what we were all like as children. Because I was fairly certain that was what we both desperately needed.

 

Truthfully, I had very little desire to stay in London for much longer after my conversation with Mum. After all this time away, the city felt strangely smoggy and oppressive, not entirely home-like anymore. And so I returned to the station and bought a ticket for the sleeper train back to Edinburgh that night with the intention of making it back to Glen Formenos as soon as possible.

I spent the rest of the afternoon killing time in a pub near the train station, slowly working my way through an overpriced bottle of red wine and thinking up nasty remarks about passers-by. It was a game I used to play with Fingon and Maglor when we were rude schoolboys, though back then we would frequently say our remarks a bit too loudly and have to beat it in a hurry.

_ That woman’s husband likely bought her that dress to atone for his five mistresses,  _ I thought, as Londoners strolled by on the pavement outside.  _ And that screaming little boy is nearly as loud as Maglor...he’s sure to become either an opera singer or a naval officer. That old man definitely pinches his maids’ backsides, and that young chap looks like he’s been living on cigars and whiskey for a month… _ “Cripes, that’s Fingon! Finn!  _ Finn!”  _ Throwing a handful of coins onto the table, I dashed out of the pub and chased after him in a most undignified manner, practically knocking him over when I caught up and grabbed his arm.

“Oh,” Fingon said, turning around without the slightest hint of enthusiasm. “It’s you.”

“Yes, of course it is. I’ve come down to London to see Mum. Saints above, Finn, you look  _ awful. _ Sorry, didn’t mean it like that, but you do look completely exhausted. What on earth has happened?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’re aware of this,” Fingon said dryly, “but your side of the family disappeared to Scotland after your father threatened my father with a pistol, and Granddad went with you, and now it’s up to the rest of us to do all the work that’s left behind. Did you think the family firm stopped running just because the illustrious Fëanor Gates and Co aren’t here to make trouble for everyone?”

“I deserve that, I suppose,” I said ruefully. “And I truly am sorry. But it hasn’t exactly been a glamorous holiday up north, either. You ought to know that.”

“Ought I? I don’t see how you expect me to. You haven’t replied to a single one of my recent letters.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, I haven’t gotten a single letter from you in weeks...oh, bloody hell.  _ Dad. _ ”

“Beg pardon?”

“Dad is utterly furious with me for writing to you about...about certain inventions,” I explained. “I would not put it past him at all to confiscate all my mail as a punishment. The old  _ bastard. _ ”

“Ah. Well, if that’s true…”

“It  _ is.  _ Do you think I would lie about something like this?”

“...then I suppose we won’t be able to communicate for a while.”

“We can’t just give up like that!” I exclaimed. “Look, my train doesn’t leave for another two hours...why don’t you come back to the pub and have a drink with me? I can tell you everything you’ve missed and we can sort out a way for us to get in touch.”

Fingon hesitated for a moment, then, to my dismay, shook his head. “Awfully sorry, old boy. I would, but I have mounds of work waiting for me back at the office. Next time, all right?” He patted me on the shoulder and, without waiting for a reply, disappeared back into the crowd on the pavement.

“There may not  _ be  _ a next time!” I shouted after him, much to the confusion of people passing by me. But if Fingon heard me, he didn’t acknowledge it.

 

I arrived back in Scotland the next morning, having gotten about two hours of sleep on the overnight train. Dad didn’t seem to notice that I had been gone, though he  _ did  _ tell me I looked an absolute mess and to get some sleep, which was encouraging. When my brothers asked after Mum, I said she was well and missed us all very much, but that Granny Indis and Aunt Eärwen were looking after her.

There weren’t any more letters from Fingon. I wasn’t sure if Dad was still confiscating them, or if my dearest friend had finally just given up.


	9. Edinburgh (Maglor and Andril)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains three things very close to my heart: live theatre, romance, and Feeling Awkward at Fancy Parties. Enjoy!

Maglor was, in a word,  _ distracted. _

Not that this was an unusual state for him—he had once been so focused on a new symphony that he had forgotten to wear shoes for an entire week—but, as his brothers would testify, when he was  _ romantically  _ distracted he was even worse. Which explained why, sitting in the parlor with his grandfather and three of his brothers the day of  _ The Magic Flute _ , he hadn’t heard a single word of the extremely loud argument they were having.

“...look, I’ll prove it, what do you think, Maglor?”

Maglor looked up from his violin and glanced around, bewildered. “Hmm? Sorry, what is happening?”

“Oh, leave the poor boy alone, he has more important things to think about,” Finwë chuckled from his seat by the fireplace, not bothering to take his eyes off his newspaper. “Looking forward to the show tonight, are you? I am sure it will be splendid.”

“Of course, you’re escorting your nurse to that silly opera tonight,” said Celegorm with a smirk. “That explains why you’ve been so distracted you didn’t notice when Huan chewed up your extra violin strings earlier.”

“Huan did what?”

“Nothing.”

“You know, when I am trying to seduce a woman, I usually do not take her to the opera,” Curufin said. “I usually take her  _ absolutely anywhere else. _ Are you certain this is going to work?”

“I am not trying to  _ seduce  _ anyone, Curufin. Besides, what do you know about women? You are seven years younger than me.”

“Only in age,” Curufin said with a wink.

“Disgusting. Watch your language in front of Granddad, if you please.”

“Don’t you drag me into this argument, boys,” said Finwë sternly. “I am reading an extremely interesting story about Lady Yavanna Smith and her plans for a new botanical garden.”

“Well, it’s good to hear we aren’t missing out on much in the capital,” Maglor quipped. “Has anyone seen Maedhros? I need to ask him what to wear.”

“Green trousers and no shirt,” suggested Caranthir unhelpfully. “I believe Maedhros is out in the vegetable garden, though. Desperately trying to make himself useful. You know how he’s been lately.” 

“I don’t, but I will take your word for it. Try not to destroy anything while I’m away.”

As Caranthir had predicted, Maedhros  _ was  _ in the garden, fiercely pulling out weeds from a bed of what were possibly leeks, or onions (it was difficult to tell, as the Glen Formenos gardens were still something of a mess). Maglor cleared his throat and was rewarded with a genuine, if tired, smile from his older brother.

“I know that look,” Maedhros said. “Let me guess: you need me to help you choose which of your ridiculous jackets to wear to the opera tonight? Not the blue one, it makes you look like a peacock.”

“I  _ like  _ looking like a peacock,” protested Maglor. “But if you insist, I suppose. What about the red velvet one?”

“If you wear it with the blue ascot, I suppose.” Maedhros stood, brushing dirt off of his knees. “If you like, we can go upstairs and discuss it. I wasn’t doing anything terribly important out here anyway.”

“That was fairly obvious.” Maglor looked at his brother searchingly. “Are you all right, Maedhros? I know I’ve been dreadful about paying attention to you lately, but if you ever need to chat…”

Maedhros looked pained, just for a moment, before shaking his head. “I won’t say I’ve had an easy few weeks, but it won’t do me any good to dwell on it. Come now, we’ll get you all dressed up to impress dear Miss Hope and you can tell me every single detail tomorrow. It will all go wonderfully, you’ll see. Though you really must not wear that blue jacket...I doubt Annie likes peacocks much.”

 

Finally,  _ finally,  _ it was time to go.

“It will be excellent to be back at the Theatre Royale again,” Maglor said brightly to Annie as they settled into their seats on the train. Miss Hope had seemed a bit nervous when he met her at the village station, and he was eager to distract her. “The last time I was there was six years ago; I agreed at the last possible minute to replace the principal violinist for a production of  _ Lucia di Lammermoor.  _ Though I can’t say I remember much about it, as I was completely exhausted and, afterwards, completely drunk.”

Annie, far from amused, sounded distinctly disapproving. “Were you? How charming.”

“Well, that was back in my wild youth, you know. I’m much older and wiser now—at least I pretend to be.”

“One hopes so, anyway.”

“I’ve booked us rooms at the King James Hotel for tonight, since it’ll be much too late to get back to Glen Formenos after the show,” Maglor blurted out, after a painful silence. “Separate rooms, of course. All very respectable. Sorry if I implied otherwise.”

“Ah,” Annie said, looking a bit disconcerted. “That’s...nice, thank you. I wasn’t expecting to be gone overnight, but if you’ve taken care of it...listen, are you sure you wouldn’t like me to pay you back for any of this? I wouldn’t like you to feel I’m taking advantage…”

“Absolutely not, you mustn’t think of it! I told you that you were my guest and I  _ meant  _ it.” Maglor paused. “I do hope it isn’t too much trouble for the rest of the village, you being away tonight. I mean...hopefully no one will fall ill?”

It was absolutely the wrong thing to say—Annie grimaced with anxiety. “Aye, I don’t like to leave very often. Young Miss Lewis can help if there are any emergencies, I’ve been training her up in the basics, but I hate to be gone…” She fiddled nervously with the end of her frayed tartan scarf, gazing out the window of the train as though she wished she could leap out of it. “But it will be all right, I’m sure. You needn’t worry. And it was  _ very  _ kind of you to invite me.”

She looked slightly green as she said this, and Maglor found himself wondering if this entire adventure had been a terrible, terrible mistake. But surely, once they were at the theatre, and were surrounded by music and laughter...things  _ had  _ to turn around.

They had to.

 

Andril had been to exactly one other opera in her life. Twenty years earlier, a wealthy benefactress had paid for the girls in the orphanage to attend a production of  _ The Barber of Seville _ , “because, after all, even orphans deserve to experience some occasional culture!” At the age of ten, most of the show had gone completely over Annie’s head, and the touring Scottish opera company was certainly nothing to write home about, but Annie never forgot the sheer thrill the music had sent through her, to the point where she never wanted the performance to end.

But that had been nothing, nothing at all, compared to  _ The Magic Flute. _

Despite her nerves—over leaving the village, over being the guest of a wealthy man at a posh event—it was hard to imagine how any production could have been more perfect. Every song was extraordinary, every movement brilliant; it was as though everything else, the entire outside world, ceased to exist. When Pamina, the beautiful daughter of the Queen of the Night (sung by a lovely golden-haired Austrian soprano) contemplated suicide at her lover’s supposed abandonment, Annie sniffled so hard she had to borrow Maglor’s handkerchief, and by the time the final curtain fell, there were tears running down her face and she was too full of joy to be embarrassed.

“That was utterly amazing,” Annie breathed, all anxiety and pretense of aloofness gone as they made their way out of the theatre into the foyer of the opera house. “Amazing. I feel as though...as though I’m walking through clouds.”

Maglor grinned. “I always feel precisely the same way after seeing an opera. Unless I have been in it, of course. In which case I come out of it feeling mainly tired and hungry.”

“I loved absolutely everything about it, but that girl who sang Pamina...she was  _ extraordinary!  _ I’ve never heard anyone sing like that. Except…” Annie flushed slightly. “Well, except you, of course.”

“I’m flattered, my dear,” Maglor said with a wink. “But you are quite correct, Ette Mueller is extremely talented and a lovely girl. I was at school with her in Vienna, did I mention? We used to have such fun together making up rude songs about the professors.”

“Music school sounds delightful,” said Annie, firmly ignoring a twinge of jealousy in her chest. “I would have loved to have more of a musical education, but it wasn’t considered practical in the orphanage. Us girls were all trained to be nurses, teachers, or maids.”

“Well, surely it’s never too late to learn? After all, you are still young, and you do have me now...my  _ goodness,  _ Ette, look at  _ you! _ ”

Annie turned in surprise to see the lovely Viennese soprano herself gliding towards them, her glittering opera costume replaced by a flamboyant magenta silk gown and an expression of utter delight on her face.

“ _ Mein Gott,  _ it  _ cannot  _ be Maglor Gates!” Ette trilled, throwing her arms about him. “My dearest school chum! How long has it been?”

“Absolutely ages, old girl,” Maglor chuckled, gracefully disentangling himself. “You were brilliant tonight, completely brilliant! Annie and I were just discussing what an excellent performance it was, weren’t we, Annie? Ette, you must let me introduce my very good friend Andril Hope, an excellent nurse.”

Ette gave Annie a brisk, polite nod before turning back to Maglor, gazing up at him fiercely. “You are so kind to say so,  _ liebchen,  _ but I do feel I was not at my best. I spent all of ‘Ach, ich fühl's, es ist verschwunden’ trying not to sneeze—I am  _ certain _ everyone could tell! Of course, it would be different if I was singing with you again and not that oaf Peretti…”

“Be reasonable, Ette, Peretti’s a brilliant singer, and a delightful chap. I’ve never seen anyone put away more gin and tonics and still be articulate…do you remember what he got up to at Giovanna’s wedding?  _ That  _ was quite a night...”

_ What am I doing here?  _ Annie berated herself some minutes later, clutching a half-empty flute of champagne and watching from a slight distance as Maglor debated eagerly with Ette Mueller and the conductor of the orchestra, evidently another old schoolfriend. The three of them had been deep in conversation for some time, leaving Annie standing awkwardly on the sidelines. While she very rarely felt out of her depths, and was widely considered to be both competent and confident, all these artistic and glamorous people made her feel shamefully provincial and unattractive, as though she was a little girl again. After all, what were her unruly hair, short stature, and shabby green dress she’d had since ‘82 compared to Ette Mueller’s glittering golden curls and voluptuous figure? 

Maglor threw back his curly head in laughter at some remark of Ette’s, making Annie’s stomach clench. He really was gorgeous, she thought wistfully. Irritating, but gorgeous. That hair, and those lovely expressive hands—and as silly and childish as she knew it was, she wished he would stop talking to Ette and the conductor and laugh like that at something  _ Annie  _ said.

Had she been feeling a bit more confident, Annie would have tried to join the conversation, asked them questions about music school and operas, tried to be friendly. Instead, she ordered another glass of champagne, took it to the ladies’ cloakroom, and hid.

It felt like hours later, though was probably closer to only twenty minutes, when she heard a soft voice calling her name, and the door to the dark cloakroom opened revealing a concerned-looking Maglor.

“Annie?  _ Annie?  _ Oh, thank goodness, there you are, I’ve been looking for you all over! You disappeared completely, Ette and Lukas were wondering where you had gotten to. What are you doing in here?”

“Just resting,” Annie said vaguely. “Don’t worry about me, you may go back out there.”

“Resting, all alone, in a dark cloakroom? Are you certain something isn’t wrong?”

“You seemed so happy talking to your friends from Vienna, it seemed...well, I thought it would be rude of me to interrupt. And,” Annie admitted, “I didn’t think I would have much to add to the conversation.”

Maglor looked a bit guilty. “I am so sorry, Annie. You are completely right, I do get distracted when I see my old classmates. But it’s hardly as though I didn’t want you there; if you can make conversation with my family you’re bound to get along swimmingly with these pretentious idiots. I joke, of course, they’re really quite decent people and they’re bound to like you.”

“Are you certain? Ette didn’t seem particularly interested to meet me.” Annie winced at how petulant her voice sounded. “Sorry.”

“Oh,  _ Ette, _ ” Maglor sighed. “I apologize on her behalf. She truly didn’t mean to snub you, I do hope she didn’t hurt your feelings. I’ll give her a good talking-to later. She’s one of those people who is entirely too focused on her Art to be very polite to people she hasn’t known for years.”

“That sounds like someone else I know,” said Annie with a weak smile.

“Nonsense, I am  _ incredibly  _ polite. Except for when people I knew as a student are in the room, apparently. Now, my dear Annie, we have two choices. Our first option is to go back out there into the foyer, and you can interrogate Ette and Lukas about all the ridiculous things I did when I was sixteen.”

“Tempting. And the second option?”

“We go to a pub, sing songs about Bonnie Prince Charlie, and find some people to teach me how to dance The Gay Gordons.”

Annie grinned and stood, brushing off her skirt. “Why don’t we try this: we will go back and chat with your friends for thirty minutes, and  _ then  _ we go to a pub so you can embarrass yourself by pretending to be a Scot.”

“Deal.”

 

The rest of the evening went, of course, swimmingly.

Ette and Lukas, once Andril had been properly introduced to them, turned out to be quite charming, and were pleased to regale her with tales of their student days at the Royal Academy (and listened quite intently to Annie’s stories of life in Aberdeen, though she wasn’t sure she entirely appreciated it when Ette declared her to be “just like Oliver Twist!”). True to his word, though, after half an hour Maglor apologized profusely to his friends, telling them that he and Annie simply must dash and what a pleasure it had been to see them, before taking Annie’s arm firmly and pulling her out into the street.

It was difficult to say at which point in the evening Annie realized she was in love. It could have been when they found their way into a grimy little pub off the Royal Mile and Maglor insisted on buying a round of beers for everyone at the bar. It could have been when he borrowed someone’s fiddle, pulled Annie up onto the table alongside him, and insisted they sing “My Bonnie Mary” together (after which he kissed her on the cheek and said she had a beautiful voice and had she ever considered singing opera herself). There was a chance she realized it when he confessed to her, after a drink or two more, that he’d always been jealous of his older brother and was desperately worried Annie would fall for him instead. Or it may have been when, just before they left, he played a slow, sweet song on the borrowed fiddle, one she’d never heard before, and when she asked him what it was called he whispered, “It’s called ‘Darling Annie,’ of course. What else would it be?”

But whenever it happened exactly, by the end of the night, when they finally made it back to the hotel at one o’clock in the morning, Annie knew for certain. Beyond the shadow of a doubt.

Which was why, in the hall outside of their rooms, when Maglor pulled her into his arms and kissed her so passionately it turned her knees to jelly, she made absolutely no attempt to stop him (though a proper lady would have done, of course).

It was also why, when he picked her up bodily and swept her into his room, locking the door behind them—she didn’t tell him no then, either.

Because, after all, why would she want to?

 

“I never thought,” Annie remarked dreamily the next morning, stretching her arms, “that I would ever end up becoming the mistress of a rich Englishman.”

Maglor sat up in bed sharply, horror etched on his fine features. “Mistress?  _ Mistress? _ ”

“Mistress, concubine, whatever you’d like to call it. After all,” Annie said with a wink, “you have made me into a ruined woman now.”

“Now see here, young woman,” Maglor said with mock sternness, lifting her chin with one long finger. “Just because we spent the night together does  _ not  _ make you a mistress, or a ruined woman, or a concubine, or any other dreadful word you may think up. What it makes you is my fiancée and, by this time next month, my wife. That is,” he said, suddenly looking worried, “if you love me. You haven’t actually said so yet.”

“Ach, you madman, surely you know by now that I adore you? I couldn’t possibly say  _ why _ , and yet I do anyway.” Annie frowned. “But you needn’t propose to me just because you feel guilty for seducing me, you know. I’m a grown woman, I won’t be marrying anybody out of duty.”

“Good Lord, you Scots are the most pessimistic people I’ve ever met,” Maglor sighed, running a hand through his wild hair. “Let me make things as explicit as I can, Annie Hope. I am going to marry you  _ not  _ out of duty, or Catholic guilt, or pressure to produce grandchildren, or anything of the sort. I am going to marry you because I am madly in love with you and am desperate to have you around all the time without it being improper. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Hmm...I’m not entirely sure,” Annie said, grinning wickedly. “But I can think of a few ways you can make it clearer.”

“I am  _ completely  _ ready to accept that challenge,” Maglor whispered fervently, before pulling her into his arms and kissing her again.


	10. RSVP (Various)

(Journal of Curufin Gates, September 28, 1892)

_ Maglor came back from Edinburgh this morning looking exhausted and disheveled, with bruises on his neck and an unbearably soppy smile. Well, I’m no fool, I knew what  _ that  _ meant. So when he told me that he would be needing engagement rings, I did what any good brother would do: I teased him mercilessly for a good twenty minutes and then got to work. _

_ It was child’s play making the things, really. All I needed to do was tear down one of those hideous pewter lamps in the sitting room that everyone hated, melt it down, pour it into one of the molds we’d brought up from London (because one never knows when one will need to make jewelry), and voila: perfectly good engagement rings, for the price of not one shilling. _

_ People who go to jewelry shops are idiots. _

_ Anyway, we’re to have a wedding soon, apparently. Ought to be hideous. I wonder if Mother will come? _

 

(Wedding invitation, clearly written in a great hurry and sent to every single member of the Gates family)

_ We humbly request your presence _

_ At the wedding of _

_ Maglor Kanafinwë Gates _

_ To Miss Andril Hope _

_ On October 30, 1892 _

_ St. Teresa of Avila Church, Edinburgh _

 

“Annie, I feel I ought to know this, but what is your middle name?”

“I haven’t got one, darling. Orphans don’t get middle names.”

“Lucky you.”

  
  


(Letter from Caranthir Gates to his mother)

_ Dear Mum, _

_ I expect you’ve heard by now that Maglor’s gone and fallen in love again and made trouble for everyone. At least his fiancée, the nurse, seems nice enough, though what she sees in him I couldn’t possibly say. I expect she feels sorry for him.  _

_ Anyway, it would be awfully nice if you came up to Edinburgh for the wedding. Everyone misses you, you know, and the whole thing will be twice as horrible if you can’t make it. Not to mention that Maglor is insisting on wearing a kilt for the ceremony and you’re the only one who has a chance of talking him out of it. Please spare us the sight of Maglor in a kilt, Mum. Please. _

_ Glen Formenos is fine otherwise, though bloody chilly. _

_ Love, etc, _

_ Caranthir _

 

(Letter from Fëanor Gates to his wife)

_ Dear Nell, _

_ I know that you’re angry with me and I know that’s not likely to change. You’re a damned stubborn woman. But then, that’s always one of the things I’ve liked about you, your blasted pigheadedness. _

_ However, I am writing to ask you to put it aside for a bit. Not for me, but for our son. You’ll have heard Maglor is getting married, of course, to a young Scotswoman who seems reasonably decent despite her background. Maglor misses you a great deal, and will be utterly devastated if you refuse to come north for the wedding. You know how dramatic that boy can be; do you remember when he only got the second-highest mark in his singing class in Vienna and he threatened to quit and come home? A disappointment like his mother missing his wedding and he’ll spend his entire honeymoon sulking and Miss Hope will have the whole thing annulled two weeks in.  _

_ So please, do come. You needn’t speak to me if you don’t want to. Not that I won’t speak to  _ you,  _ but you are free to ignore me. I hope you’ll speak to the children, though. I hate to admit it, but they do need their mother. _

_ All my love, _

_ Fëanor _

 

(Letter from Nerdanel Gates to her son Maglor)

_ My darling boy, _

_ How lovely it is to hear you are getting married. Your fiancée sounds very sweet and I do look forward to meeting her. _

_ Your father and brothers have been sending me countless letters begging me to come up to Edinburgh for the wedding. I confess, I was surprised not to receive one from yourself. Though perhaps you knew how silly it was to even have to ask. After all, I am your mother. Surely, everyone ought to realize that it would be impossible to keep me away on such a happy occasion? _

_ And so I will see you in October, my dear. I personally do not object to you wearing a kilt, though you may want to ask your fiancée which tartan is appropriate. After all, we wouldn’t like to offend any Scottish clans. _

_ Love, _

_ Mum _


	11. The Wedding (Nerdanel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nerdanel finally gets her own chapter, hurrah! I do love her, she's such an excellent mother.

My own wedding, in the spring of 1860, was a quick, modest affair: a ceremony in the Kilhenny parish church, with my parents and Fëanor’s father as witnesses, followed by a brief luncheon at home and a week at the seaside for a honeymoon. We were in a great hurry to start our family, Fëanor and I, and so ignored all rules about the proper length of engagements or the proper style of society weddings. Fortunately our families, probably sensing there would otherwise be an enormous scandal, went along with our hurried plans (a good thing, as little Maedhros came along precisely nine months later and not a moment before).

It was a humble event, yes, but the years that followed it were so full of joy I never felt any jealousy towards others who did things more grandly. I envied my brother-in-law Fingolfin and his glamorous Indian wedding not a bit, nor did I begrudge Finarfin and Eãrwen their beautiful ceremony at her family’s castle in Wales. “‘Tis not about the wedding, ‘tis about the  _ marriage, _ ” I would always say, quoting my mother. And how could there be any marriage happier than mine?

As the boys grew up, I naturally found myself wondering what sorts of loves they might someday find. Fëanor and I would often laughingly discuss, as we lay in bed at night, our very strict criteria for our future daughters-in-law. Maedhros needed a wife incapable of jealousy, with a husband as handsome as our firstborn. Any girl who married Caranthir would have to be both quick-witted and slow-tempered. Celegorm, we agreed, required a woman with sharp eyes and a strong stomach, while the twins would need to find a pair of identical sisters who would understand their need to always be together. Fëanor wasn’t worried about Curufin in the slightest—”Just find him a girl exactly like his dear mother,” he would say with a grin, “and he will be as happy as I am. We simply need to send him off to Ireland to find a bride, like my father did with me.”

As for our passionate, romantic second son, so easily enchanted and so easily heartbroken...he would need a girl as steady as the tides, who loved him not for his talent but for himself. Precisely the sort of girl Maglor seemed to spend most of his youth avoiding.

So I confess, when I received a hurriedly scrawled invitation to Maglor’s wedding to an unknown girl named Andril Hope, my first emotion was fear. Fear that this young woman would be no better than she should be, that she was after money and fame, not love, that everything would go horribly wrong once again. Surely, I thought, heaven would see to it that there was no more joy in our family. We had been weighed and found wanting.

Oddly enough, it was Caranthir who changed my mind—aye, not my husband, but my middle son, who despite his usual bad temper was a shrewd judge of character. “Sensible enough,” he’d described his brother’s fiancée; a plain phrase, but high praise from Caranthir. And I had to admit, after spending over twenty years fixing their cuts and bruises, there was something comforting in the idea of one of my sons marrying a nurse.

So, I would go to the wedding, in spite of everything. And as I packed to head up to Scotland, I allowed my fear to give way, just a bit, to hope.

 

The small church was surprisingly crowded when I finally arrived, several of my nieces and nephews in tow (Fingon, Aredhel, and Finrod, the darlings, had absolutely insisted on coming along to see their cousin married, though I suspected the first two had ulterior motives as well). It being some minutes before the start of the ceremony, the guests were still scattered about the church, mingling and chatting; I could see several of my sons (all, I noticed to my amusement, wearing kilts), though not their father, holding glasses of wine and whispering fervently, while several plainly-dressed people who must have been friends from Glen Formenos awkwardly rubbed elbows with flamboyant types who I could recognize as some of Maglor’s theatre friends. The groom himself was nowhere to be seen, though, and I kept my eye out for him as my niece and nephews disappeared into the crowd.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Fingon tentatively making his way over to where Maedhros stood. There were a few moments of mumbling and awkward foot-shuffling between the boys, before I saw my eldest son’s face split into a wide grin as he clapped his friend on the back. A good start to the festivities, I thought.

“Mum!  _ Mum! _ ”

I turned to see Maglor running toward me, all got up in his wedding finery and his face alight with pure joy. “You came!” he cried, sweeping me up into a hug. “I was so worried you wouldn’t want to, even after your letter...but you did, you’re here!”

“My goodness, put me down, you silly boy!” I laughed. “You’ll embarrass me in front of the priest!”

He put me down, but refused to let go of my shoulders, as though he thought I might disappear. “I could not possibly embarrass you, Mum, you look far too beautiful and dignified for that! Have you…” He glanced around nervously. “Have you spoken to Dad yet?”

“Not yet, dear. I will later. Now hush and let me have a look at you, my little prince!”

Maglor stepped back and preened ridiculously, grinning from ear to ear. He did look quite handsome, my darling boy, in his red tartan kilt and with his hair combed into some semblance of neatness, though I personally thought that when any of my sons smiled they would have been beautiful in rags. His joy was infectious, and I could feel myself beginning to tear up.

“Goodness, Mum, are you all right?”

“Oh, yes, my love. I have never been better,” I said, dabbing at my eyes with my hankie. “You look wonderful, and I am so very happy for you. But now, you must tell me where your bride-to-be is...I really feel I must meet her  _ before  _ I become her mother-in-law, don’t you?”

“Why...yes, of course!” His smile faltered slightly; the poor thing was plainly nervous. “I’m not allowed to see her, naturally, but I believe she will be in one of the back rooms getting ready. But Mum, please…” He lowered his voice slightly. “Don’t frighten her, all right?”

“I’ll try my best, dear, but surely you realize it is every mother’s right to make sure her future daughter-in-law is worthy?” Maglor looked so worried I couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t you fret, if you love her I’m certain I will. But first I must find her!”

The disconcertingly young priest, Father McBride, kindly directed me towards the small back chamber where, he said, the bride was finishing her toilette. When I arrived, I discovered a young woman sitting in front of a makeshift dressing table, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes down as if in prayer, while an elderly lady in a nun’s habit fussed over her hair. At the sound of my footsteps, both looked up, the girl’s blue eyes widening.

“I know who you are,” she said, in a soft Scottish burr. “You are Mrs. Gates. I am so very glad you could come.”

“As am I,” I replied. “And you must be Miss Andril Hope, of course. Could we speak privately for a moment, please?”

“Of course. Sister Mary Martha, would you mind terribly excusing us?”

The nun nodded and left, shooting me an appraising look on her way out. Andril smoothed down her hair and stood, gazing at me steadily. She was quite a nice-looking little thing, I thought. Her pale gray dress was elegant, but plain (a good sign that she had not been draining the family accounts) and her red-gold hair was pinned up neatly at the nape of her neck. No great beauty, perhaps, but with a kind and intelligent face. 

“It seems odd that we are only meeting today,” Andril said at last. “I must say, I feel as if I know you already. Maglor—your son talks about you constantly.”

“Yes, my son talks a great deal,” I said, smiling in spite of myself. “But before you marry him, I feel we really must talk. As I am sure you can understand, Miss Hope, I am very protective of my children, so I must beg your permission to speak plainly.”

“You have it, of course. But only if you call me Annie, as your son does.”

“Annie, then. You must know that you are far from the first young woman who has pursued Maglor. Many from genuine affection, of course, but plenty more in hopes of money and status. You understand?” Annie swallowed, but nodded firmly. “So understand this, Miss Hope. My son may come from a wealthy family, and he may be brilliant and well-regarded, but at heart he is a good, kind boy who does not take betrayal lightly. Nor do I, as it happens. And if I discover your motivations for this marriage are not honorable, it will go very, very badly for you. Do I make myself plain?”

“You do. And I hope you will allow me to speak plainly as well.” Annie took a step closer, a defiant look on her face. “I never intended to marry, Mrs. Gates. I was perfectly happy with my work and my status in life, and had no need of a husband to make me respectable. I was reluctant to accept your son’s attentions, much as I liked him, as I had no desire to leave my life behind and become part of London society. But somehow…” She smiled, flushing. “He won me over.”

“He does that.”

“Aye, he does. But you may rest assured, Mrs. Gates, that I love Maglor not because of his money and talent, but in spite of it.”

I laid a hand on my shoulder, relief spreading through me. “You can’t know what it means to me to hear that, Annie dear. And now that we are to be family, I insist you call me Mum.”

Her eyes grew even wider, if possible. “I...I have never had a mum before.”

“Ah, but you do now. Come, my girl, let’s see you married.”

 

The ceremony, while beautiful, went by in a flash.

I sat between the twins, who insisted on leaning against my shoulders as though they were children, despite their being far taller than me now. It seemed, somehow, that even though they were all adults, my children had all kept growing. Though perhaps, I thought with a twinge of guilt, I had simply been away too long. 

My husband sat on the opposite end of the pew from me, next to Maedhros. We hadn’t yet spoken, despite the searching glances he had been spending my way. It was almost painful after all this time apart to see how handsome Fëanor still was—not a single touch of gray in his dark hair, his strong chin held high as he gazed proudly at Maglor and Annie. I could well remember our own wedding day, and how young and passionate and determined we had been...and in spite of my husband’s recent self-absorption and obsession, despite the widening gap between us, I felt an overwhelming urge to throw myself into his arms.

But this was not our day, I reminded myself, not about my own marriage. It was about our son, so happy he was practically singing his vows, and our new daughter-in-law, more sedate but with no less love in her voice. There was hardly a dry eye in the church as the ceremony neared its conclusion; I was happy to see even my middle three sons, not known for their romantic natures, surreptitiously dabbing at their eyes (Maedhros was quite openly crying, which was quite adorable). 

“What God hath joined together,” intoned Father McBride at last, “let no man put asunder.”

And that was that.

Finwë had pulled some strings and hired the grand salon in the King James Hotel for the wedding reception. The splendid decor and rich food contrasted charmingly with the lively, rustic music of the ceilidh band that had come up from Glen Formenos (consisting of three grizzled, red-faced men who seemed to know Maglor well and insisted on calling him “wee sassenach”). 

I had barely had a moment to sit down since we arrived at the hotel, having been made to dance with every single one of my boys and quite a few strangers. It was a relief to be so much on my feet, in truth, for I knew that the moment I stepped aside Fëanor would find me. And I was not yet sure what to say to him. Eventually, though, my feet were beginning to blister in my boots and I retreated to one of the piled-high refreshment tables to fetch myself a glass of punch.

He was at my side in less than a minute. Of course he was.

“Nerdanel,” Fëanor said quietly. He stood at a respectful distance, as difficult as it plainly was for him. “I haven’t yet had an opportunity to thank you for coming today.”

“You must think very little of me if you think I would miss our son’s wedding,” I replied stiffly. This conversation would go far better if I kept my emotions under check.

He shook his head. “Truthfully, it was myself I thought little of. I assumed I had offended you to the point where you would consider yourself well rid of us.”

“Is this an apology?”

“Of a sort, yes.”  Fëanor smiled, and for a moment he was the spitting image of the lovely boy I’d married thirty-two years earlier. “And I am hoping to be able to convince you to come up to Scotland and stay with us. As I believe I may have mentioned, we miss you terribly.”

“It’s a tempting offer. But why must I come up to Scotland? Why can you not come back to London?”

“You know perfectly well why, Nell. My half-brother…”

“Is still your  _ brother _ , Fëanor. Who loves you, in spite of everything. Surely you can find it in your heart to be the better man, to make amends?”

“Someday, perhaps,” Fëanor sighed. “But not yet. It’s...the wound is still too fresh.”

“In that case, I have a bargain for you,” I said. “When you can finally put all of this behind you and apologize to your brother, I will be a proper wife to you again, and stay with you in Scotland or London or wherever you choose. Until then, you will have to make do with seeing me only occasionally. Can you accept that?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Very well. But what will you do, in London on your own?”

“I have my work, Fëanor, and the rest of our family. I will not be idle. Besides,” I said, “I have been considering visiting my parents in Ireland for some time. It’s been too long since I’ve seen them.”

“Not a bad plan, that. Give your father my love.” Fëanor looked across the room to where Maglor stood, whispering something in Annie’s ear that was making her blush. “Think they’ll be all right, those two?”

“Oh, yes. I gave her a good talking-to before the wedding and she didn’t blink an eye. She’s got gumption, that girl.”

“I confess I’ve always thought so. She’s never seemed particularly intimidated by  _ me, _ which is an impressive feat,” Fëanor said with a wink. “They’re heading off to Orkney for their honeymoon, did you know? Apparently they’ve rented some little cottage on the beach. Sounds just like our wedding trip.”

“Gracious, how could I forget? We barely spent any time indoors, and when we did we practically destroyed the place,” I laughed. “What energy we had back then.”

“Indeed, and if Maglor takes after us at all we may never see them again. I say, was it your idea to have all the boys wear kilts? I was against it at first but they do look rather dashing.”

“I believe it was the groom’s idea, in fact, though I strongly support it. Aren’t our boys wonderful?”

We stood in silence for a moment, admiring the children we’d made—our most marvelous inventions.

“Look, Nell,” said Fëanor suddenly. “I accept your terms for our reunion, and won’t ask anything of you as my wife until this is sorted out. But this is a celebration. Can we not go back to how things used to be, just for one night?”

“In what way?”

“Well, for example, I was rather hoping you would dance with me.”

I stood and set down my glass, smiling. “That, my dear husband, I can most certainly do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Fëanor and Nerdanel...they really do love each other, there is just too. much. drama.


	12. Second Chance (Caranthir)

By the spring of 1894, we had been living in Glen Formenos for nearly two years. And though few of us would have admitted it, the place was finally starting to feel like home. Dad had relaxed his ban on the cousins visiting, and so we would occasionally have Fingon or Aredhel or Finrod coming up from London to eat all our food and cause trouble. Grandfather spent most of his time in Castle Formenos with us, though occasionally returned south to deal with business affairs. Maglor and Annie had set up home in the village; Annie continued to be our only source of medical attention, while Maglor taught music lessons to the village children and occasionally disappeared to Edinburgh for concerts. Even Mother occasionally came up to visit, though never for as long as any of us would like. 

I myself was staying surprisingly well-occupied, reorganizing the castle gardens and experimenting with various seeds imported from America. Pumpkins and squash in particular took well to the soil and could fetch quite a tidy profit in the village market, so I felt I was doing my bit for the family coffers. Celegorm could call me “the robber baron” all he liked, but the idiotic nickname didn’t change the fact that I was capable of doing something useful and he was not.

Despite things going relatively well in our new home, I couldn’t deny that I was homesick. With the possible exception of Maglor and Annie, I’m fairly certain all of us were. Maedhros had a position at his old law firm he was hoping to get back to, and the twins were eager to finally start university. Even Curufin, usually happy to stay shut up in the workshop with Dad for months at a time, seemed to be chafing a bit.

I think we all hoped, when our father summoned us for one more Family Meeting, that we would tell us it was finally time to go home.

It had been some time since Dad had convened one of our meetings, and considering what had happened at the last one, none of us were particularly excited about it. Nonetheless, when summoned, all of us dutifully gathered together in hopes that we would be subjected to good news rather than a tirade.

“This ought to be a delightful new experience for you, Annie,” Curufin informed our new sister-in-law. “You haven’t been to one of our Family Meetings before, but they frequently involve either crime or scientific breakthroughs. Sometimes both.”

“Never about anything  _ interesting,  _ though,” Maglor said with a yawn. “For example, we’ve never once had a family meeting about Franz Liszt.”

“Well, I suppose I can understand that,” said Annie. “After all, Mr. Liszt has been dead for eight years, he’s hardly been doing anything noteworthy.”

“Now these are the sort of conversations I miss having every day,” Celegorm drawled. “Won’t you two please move back to the castle so I can spend all my time listening to arguments about dead composers?”

“Why, I assumed that was what this particular meeting was about. All of you begging Annie and I to come back because you missed us so very much.”

“We  _ do  _ miss you, as it happens,” Dad remarked, entering the room briskly, an opened envelope in his hand. “But that is not the purpose of our Family Meeting.”

“Which of us is in trouble this time, then?” I asked.

“None of you. The fact is, I have received an invitation,” Dad said. “From your Uncle Fingolfin.”

“What sort of invitation?” inquired Granddad, frowning.

“Evidently he is hosting a reception for the Prime Minister and his wife. Ought to be quite grand, most of the family will be there. He says,” Dad said incredulously, “that he is  _ sorry  _ for how things are between us, and is hoping that if I attend we will be able to talk things out.”

“Thinks that’s going to work, does he?” Curufin snorted. “As though none of us has ever been to a party before…”

“I am thinking,” interrupted Dad smoothly, “of accepting his invitation.”

You could have knocked any one of us over with a feather. Even Granddad looked astounded.

“Are you certain, Fëanor?” he asked, concern in his eyes. “I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t wish to.”

“I appreciate that, Father, but in truth I do wish to go. This exile has gone on quite long enough, and I’m certain the children would appreciate being able to return to London. Most of them, anyway,” said Dad, shooting a quick smile at Maglor and Annie. “So yes, I will go to my...brother’s party. It’s high time we settled things.”

“Without pistols this time, I hope,” I muttered. Unfortunately, Dad heard me, and gave me one of his most disapproving frowns.

“No, Caranthir, I will not be bringing any weapon other than my formidable intellect. What your uncle brings is entirely up to him, but I have every intention of behaving honorably this time.”

“Would you like us to come with you?” Maedhros asked hopefully. “It would be rather nice, to see the rest of the family…”

Dad considered for a moment, before shaking his head. “I believe it would be better for me to go alone. In case there are any...problems, it will be much safer for the rest of you to remain here. Unless you would like to come, Father?”

“Kind of you to offer, but I would prefer to stay here and look after the boys,” Granddad replied. “I am far too old to do all this last-minute traveling. Besides, Manwë and Varda Sulimo are brilliant people, but I have been to enough receptions for them that the novelty has worn off somewhat.” He smiled widely, and patted Dad on the shoulder. “But I am proud of you, my boy. Let us be a family again.”

 

Dad left the next morning, bringing little with him. He was not, I noticed, even wearing a tie.

“I hope you don’t plan to apologize to Uncle Fingolfin dressed like that,” I said, helping him load his traveling case into the cart. “He may think you’re not sincere.”

“Since when do a man’s clothes define his sincerity?” Dad asked, before smiling and patting me on the shoulder. “Besides, your mum will be very proud of me for trying, don’t you think?”

“I expect she will,” I replied, trying not to grin. “It will be nice to be allowed back in London again. I think the abacus that serves as my brain is starting to atrophy from all this time spent in the country.”

“Nonsense, that will never happen. You are my son, our brains don’t atrophy. Though it  _ would  _ be an interesting scientific experiment, to see what effect eighteen months in the country has on a brilliant mind…”

“Dad, you know how much I respect your discoveries, but please do not do experiments on my mind.”

“Understood. I expect a thorough report on everything I’ve missed when I come back, you know.”

“Naturally. Dad…” I hesitated. “Thank you. For doing this, you know. I suppose it can’t be easy.”

Dad sighed. “No, it is not. But it may be worth doing nonetheless. Don’t let yourself worry too much, my clever boy. Things will be all right now, I think.”

And, fool that I was, I agreed with him.


	13. The Heist (Melkor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for crime.
> 
> (Scary Russian mobster Ungoliant gives me life I am sorry)

It had been surprisingly easy, in the end, to get the Spider back on his team. Ungoliant Molotov was a shrewd woman, yes, and could most likely have spend the rest of her days in hiding in Siberia, but she was also incorrigibly greedy. The chance to steal the Gates Artificial Diamonds—quite possibly the most valuable objects in creation—was one Melkor knew she couldn’t resist.

She drove a damn hard bargain, though.

“You will, of course, give me the larger portion of the profits,” Ungoliant declared as soon as Melkor had finished outlining his plan. “Two-thirds will do, I am thinking. After all, without my skills, you will be utterly helpless,  _ nyet? _ ”

The two of them sat in the office Melkor kept just for such meetings as this; a dimly-lit back room in a grimy East End brothel. Even in the relative darkness, though, he could see in the Spider’s eye (the one not covered by a patch) a reflection of his own ambition, to a level that was almost frightening. 

“Do be reasonable, old girl. Sell  _ one  _ of those things and you’ll live like a czarina for the rest of your life,” Melkor wheedled. “I, on the other hand, must have a scientist chap assess their chemical makeup so I can recreate the process of making them…”

“For which, surely, you only need one,” Ungoliant said silkily. “And by selling  _ two  _ of these diamonds, I will be able to live like a goddess, and never trouble you again. You must agree this is better for both of us?”

Melkor swallowed, remembering suddenly that the last time he had worked with the Spider he had seen her tear out a man’s throat with her bare hands. It might be worth agreeing to her terms, if only to save his own neck from the bite of those inch-long fingernails.

Besides, whatever deal he made with her, it wasn’t as though he had to honor it.

“Very well, Madame Molotov,” Melkor said at last. “We will make a gentlemen’s agreement. In exchange for your assistance, two-thirds of the profit will be yours.”

“ _ Chort!  _ I am no gentleman. Do not insult me, Mr. Bauglir.” Ungoliant stood, holding out her scarred and tattooed right hand. “But we are agreed. Two of the diamonds, mine. You have made the correct decision.” 

Melkor took her hand and shook it, wincing as her razor-sharp nails dug into his wrist. “I will contact you when the time is right, then. Until next time, Madame Molotov.”

“ _ Do svidaniya, _ ” Ungoliant replied coolly, drawing her heavy fur coat around her shoulders and striding fiercely from the room.

As the door closed behind her, Melkor chuckled and stretched out his legs, reflecting once again upon his own brilliance. Plenty of his subordinates had expressed (respectfully, of course, Melkor would tolerate no disrespect) their concerns at this new plan. Surely, they said, it would be better for him to wait a few years, build up resources, repair his relationship with the Prime Minister and convince everyone of his upstanding citizenship, before attempting something of this magnitude? But their protests fell on deaf ears. There was no better time to put his plan in motion, with the Artificial Diamonds relatively vulnerable in Scotland and, Melkor had heard, that upstart inventor heading back to London. Certainly, if things went south, Mr. Mandos and the Home Office would be difficult to deal with, but Melkor had no fear of anyone in Her Majesty’s government. Least of all Manwë Sulimo; Prime Minister or no, the man had no power over Melkor whatsoever.

They were, after all, half-brothers.

 

(Front page of  _ The Times of London,  _ April 6, 1894)

_ LONDON BUSINESSMAN KILLED IN EXTRAORDINARY JEWEL THEFT _

_ Great tragedy struck the small Scottish village of Glen Formenos on Saturday when Finwë Gates, head of a well-regarded jewelry firm and patriarch of the renowned Gates clan, was found murdered in the library of the family’s Scottish estate. Police report that the victim appeared to have been forced to open an exceedingly complicated safe before being shot in the back at close range. The contents of the safe were, upon questioning of several of Mr. Gates’ grandchildren, discovered to be three Artificial Diamonds of great worth, which are now believed to be in the possession of the killer or killers. The diamonds, created by an undisclosed chemical process, are regarded as the first of their kind ever made and are rumored to be valued at several million pounds apiece. _

_ Inspectors at Scotland Yard have been quiet about potential leads for the case, though many suspect the heinous crime may have been the work of one Melkor Bauglir, convicted in a series of bank robberies in the mid-’70s and released from Reading Gaol only seven years ago. Some have speculated as well that he was assisted by Mme. Ungoliant “The Spider” Molotov, a Russian national and a previous accomplice of Mr. Bauglir. Prime Minister Manwë Sulimo, a friend of Mr. Gates and the one who issued a pardon to Mr. Bauglir in ‘87, expressed his condolences to the Gates family and his hope that the culprit would soon be apprehended. However, he refused to speculate on said culprit’s identity, to the chagrin of many members of the public. _

_ Fëanor C. Gates, eldest son of the deceased and the creator of the Artificial Diamonds, could not be reached for comment. _


End file.
